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SONGS AND BALLADS 



SAMUEL LOVER. 



INCLUDING THOSE SUNG IN HIS " IRISH EVENINGS,"' AND HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED. 



Jaques. Will you sing 7 

Amiens. More at your request than to please myself. 



Touchstone. Lovers are given to poetry. 



As You Like It. 



Clown. What hast here 7— Ballads 1— 

Mopsa. Pray now buy some. 

Winter's Tale. 



THIRD EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS, CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR. 




NEW YORK: 
-6^< WILEY & PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by 

WILEY AND PUTNAM, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



TO LORD VISCOUNT MORPETH 



SECRETARY OF STATE FOR IRELAND. 



My Lord, 
Although entertaining the highest admiration of your Lordship's 
private worth, it is in your public capacity I beg to inscribe to you the 
following pages. 

Former Secretaries of State for Ireland have considered the fulfilment 
of government duties sufficient, and having buckled on their political 
armor, have seemed to consider it impossible to lay it aside ; but to 
your Lordship is due the credit of having discovered a neutral ground 
whereon your love of Ireland might display itself, apart from the fiery 
contention of politics, and where, unarmed, you might tread in security. 
That one sacred spot is the refined and the refining region of literature 
and the arts. You, my Lord, have dedicated one particular banquet, 
among your official entertainments, to rally round you Irishmen distin- 



DEDICATION. 



guished in arts and letters, regardless of their political opinions ; thus 
honoring with a distinct recognition the genius and talent of Ireland. 

Of this mark of favor to my country, which you, my Lord, are the 
first to have instituted, I, for one, profess myself proud ; and as some of 
the following songs relate to my native land, they may the more fitly be 
offered as a heartfelt homage to your Lordship from a grateful Irish- 
man. 

I have the honor to be, 

Your Lordship's obliged and faithful servant, 

SAMUEL LOVER. 



PREFACE. 



The advice of many literary friends has induced me to offer 
the following pages to the world. I should have feared to do so 
on my own judgment. I have to be thankful for the public favor 
with which many of the songs have already been received in a 
musical shape ; whether they will bear to be separated from the 
airs to which I have wedded them is yet to be determined : — my 
friends say that, after the fashion of another sort of separation, 
they will survive the divorce. I hope they are right. 

SAMUEL LOVER. 



PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 



My Songs having the good fortune of being popular in America, 
have appeared in diffei*ent shapes, at different times and places. 
A reprint of a London edition of my " Songs and Ballads " 
has lately been republished in this country, deficient of the songs 
of " Handy Andy " and " Treasure Trove," and having but 
a very few from my " Irish Evenings." 

This present edition contains all those I have enumerated, 
besides all the Songs of my " Irish Evenings," many of which are 
here published for the first time. In fact, the present edition is 
the only perfect one in existence, being much more ample than 
any collection of my songs published, even in Europe, and the 
only authentic copy of my poetical works in this country, it 
having gone through typographical correction under my own 
hand. 

SAMUEL LOVER. 
Jlstor House, JSTew York, Dec , 1846. 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS OF THE SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 

PAGE 

THE MAY-DEW . 1 

THE RING AND THE WINDING-SHEET ..... 3 

RORY o'mORE ; OR, GOOD OMENS . ..... 5 

THE angel's whisper ........ 7 

THE MORNING DREAM 9 

THE FAIRY TEMPTER 11 

THE NEW MOON . 13 

THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK 14 

THE CHARM 15 

THE FALLING STAR ........ 17 

THE FAIRY BOY ......... 19 

THE LETTER .......... 21 

LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

TRITE LOVE CAN NE'eR FORGET ...... 25 

THE BLARNEY 27 

THE HAUNTED SPRING ........ 28 

NED OF THE HILL 30 

THE TRYSTING TREE 32 

MEMORY AND HOPE . o 33 

can't YOU GUESS ? 34 



CONTENTS. 



LEGENDAKY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

BEAUTY AND TIME ........ 36 

THE CHILD AND THE GOSSAMER . . .... 38 

THE FOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWER .... 40 

LISTEN 41 

UNDER THE ROSE 5 42 

MY dark-hair'd girl ........ 43 

I THINK OF THEE 44 

DIVIDED LOVE .......*.. 46 

YES AND NO . .....-.• I 47 

I LEAVE YOU TO GUESS 49 

OH ! ONCE I HAD LOVERS 51 

THE LAND OF THE WEST . 52 

THE WIND AND THE WEATHERCOCK ..... 54 

SLEEP, MY LOVE ......... 56 

THE STAR OF THE DESERT ....... 57 

OH, SHE IS A BRIGHT-EYED THING ! 58 

NATIVE MUSIC ......... 59 

THE POOR BLIND BOY , . 60 

NEVER DESPAIR .......,* 62 

THE CONVENT BELLE ... 63 

OH ! don't you REMEMBER 65 

THE LAND OF DREAMS ........ 66 

JESSIE .... ...... 68 

THE HOUR I PASS WITH THEE ....... 70 

THE ARAB 71 

THE SUNSHINE OF THE HEART 73 

'tis SWEET TO REMEMBER . . . . . • , 'j^ 74 

THE SLAVE TRADE ......... 75 

BRING ME THAT ANCIENT BOWL ...... 77 

WHEN AND WHERE ......... 78 

SOFT ON THE EAR ......... 79 

'twas LOVING THEE TOO WELL ....... 80 

WHEN GENTLE MUSIC . 81 

HOW SWEET 'tis TO RETURN ....... 83 

SONG OF THE SPANISH PEASANT ...... 84 

THE HAPPIEST TIME 19 NOW ....*.• 85 

THE SILENT FAREWELL ....... 87 

'tis TIME TO FLY . . .88 



CONTENTS. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

PAOB 
MOLLY CAREW ......... 90 

WOULD TOU KNOW WHO HAS MY VOW ? . . . . . 93 

MY GENTLE LUTE ......... 95 

THE angel's WING ........ 97 

WHO ARE YOU ? 99 

MARCH ! 101 

MORNING, SWEET MORNING 103 

LOVE ME ! . . . 104 

SERENADE .......... 105 

VICTORIA THE QUEEN 107 

SONG OF THE ITALIAN TROUBADOUR ..... 109 

THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN LEAF ...... 110 

FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE ..... Ill 

MY MOUNTAIN HOME ......... 113 

THE HOUR BEFORE DAY . . . . . . .114 

'twas THE DAY OF THE FEAST .....•, 116 

SECRETS WERE NOT MEANT FOR THREE .... 118 

MY MOTHER DEAR ......... 119 

THE MEETING OF FOES, AND THE MEETING OF FRIENDS . 120 

MOLLY BAWN .......... 122 

THE BIRTH OF ST. PATRICK . ..... 123 

there's no SUCH GIRL AS MINE ...... 125 

whisper low . , , 127 

the pilgrim harper ........ 129 

grief is mine : . . . 131 

gentle lady hear my vow 132 

the wedding of the adriatic ...... 133 

gondolier, row 135 

Cupid's wing .......... 136 

FORGIVE BUT DON't FORGET ..... 138 

SONGS FROM THE NOVEL OF " HANDY ANDY." 

I CAN ne'er FORGET THEE ....... 140 

THE SNOW ..... ..... 142 

WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST ....... 144 

THE SHOUT OF NED OF THE HILL 146 

SALLY 148 

THERE IS A GENTLE GLEAM ...... 150 

THE /^OICE WITHIN •....,... 151 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS FROM TH" NOVEL OF " HANDY ANDY." 

FAOK 
ASK ME NOT WHAT i'm THINKING ..... 153 

A LEAF THAT REMINDS ME OF THEE ..... 154 

SAY NOT MY HEART IS COLD 156 

WIDOW MACHREE ......... 158 

THE Quaker's meeting ....... 161 

THE DOVE SONG .... ...... 165 

LADY MINE .......... 167 

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY . 169 

THE SUNSHINE IN YOU . 172 

•MACARTHY's GRAVE .....,.>.. 173 

SONGS OF THE IRISH EVENINGS. 

THE TWO BIRDS ......... 177 

OH WATCH YOU WELL, BY DAYLIGHT ..... 179 

THE LOW-BACKED CAR . ' . . . . . . 181 

paddy's PASTORAL RHAPSODY ....... 184 

WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE ? . . . . . . . 186 

THE BEGGAR .......... ISS 

THE ROAD OF LIFE : OR, SONG OF THE IRISH POST-BOY . . 190 

KITTY CREAGH 192 

DERMOT O'dOWD ......... 194 

THE ROYAL DREAM ......... 196 

THE VENETIAN LOVE CHASE . ...... 198 

THE DREAMER 200 

ST KEVIN : A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH .... 202 

MOTHER, he's GOING AWAY 204 

TEA-TABLE TACTICS ..... ... 208 

THEY SAY MY SONGS ARE ALL THE SAME .... 208 

SONGS FROM THE NOVEL OF " TREASURE TROVE." 

THE SOLDIER .......... 21 1 

MARY MA CHREE ...,,.... 213 

LOVE, AND HOME, AND NATIVE LAND 214 

MY NATIVE TOWN ......... 215 

OUR OWN WHITE CLIFF . 217 

THE MOUNTAIN DEW . 219 

THE lady's hand 220 

FAG AN BEALACH 222 



SONGS 



THE SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND 



SONGS, & c 



THE MAY-DEW. 



To gather the dew from the flowers on May-morning, before the sun has risen, is reck- 
oned a bond of peculiar power between lovers. 



Come with me, love, I'm seeking 

A spell in the young year's flowers ; 
The magical May-dew is weeping 

Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs ; 
Its pearls are more precious than those they find 

In jewell'd India's sea ; 
For the dew-drops, love, might serve to bind 
Thy heart, for ever, to me ! 

Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking 

A spell in the young year's flowers ; 
The magical May-dew is weeping 
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. 
2 



SONGS OF THE 



Haste, or the spell will be missing, 
We seek in the May-dev,' now ; 
For soon the warm sun will be kissing 

The bright drops from blossom and bough : 
And the charm is so tender the May-dew sheds 

O'er the wild flowers' delicate dyes, 
That e'en at the touch of the sunbeam, 'tis said, 
The mystical influence flies. 

Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking 

A spell in the young year's flowers ; 
The magical May-dew is weeping 
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 



THE RING AND THE WINDING-SHEET, 



Why sought you not the silent bower, 

The bower, nor hawthorn tree ; 
Why came you not at evening hour, 

Why came you not to me ? 
Say, does thy heart beat colder now, 

Oh ! tell me, truly tell, 
Than when you kiss'd my burning brow, 

When last you said "Farewell ?" 



As late my taper I illumed, 

To sigh and watch for thee. 
It soon the mystic form* assumed 

Which lovers smile to see ; 
But fondly while I gazed upon 

And trimm'd the flame with care, 
The pledge of plighted love was gone, 

The sign of deathf was there ! 

* A small exfoliation of wax from the candle, called, by the superstitious, 
" a ring," and considered indicative of marriage. 

t When this waxen symbol, instead of being circular, becomes length- 
ened and pendulous, it is then called " a winding-sheet," and forebodes 
death. 



SONGS OF THE 



Oh say, was^this foreboding truth ? 

And wilt thou break thy vow ? 
And wilt thou blight my op'ning youth ? 

And must 1 — must I now 
Meet death's embrace for that chaste kiss, 

That holy kiss you vow'd ? 
And must I, for my bridal dress, 

Be mantled in the shroud ! 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 



RORY O'MORE 

OR, 

GOOD OMENS. 



Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn, 

He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn ; 

He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, 

And he thought the best way to do that was to teaze. 

" Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry, 

Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye, 

" With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what I'm about, 

Faith you've teazed till I've put on my cloak inside out." 

" Oh! jewel," says Rory, " that same is the way 

You've thrated my heart for this many a day, 

And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? 

For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. 



" Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " don't think of the like, 

For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike ; 

The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound:" 

" Faith !" says Rory, " I'd rather love you than the ground. 



SONGS OF THE 



'• Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go : 
Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so !" 
" Oh !" says Rory, " that same I'm delighted to hear, 
For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear. 
Oh ! jewel, keep dhraming that same till you die, 
And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie ! 
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? 
Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. 



" Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed me enough, 
Sure I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duffj 
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, 
So I think, after that, I may talk to the j^riesl."* 
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck. 
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck. 
And he look'd in her eyes that were beaming with light. 
And he kiss'd her sweet lips — don't you think he was right ? 
" Now, Rory, leave off, sir — you'll hug me no more. 
That's eight times to-day you have kiss'd me before." 
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure, 
For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. 

* Paddy's mode of asking a girl to name the day. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 



A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, 
it is " talking with angels." 



A BABY was sleeping, 

Its mother was weeping, 
For her husband was far on the wrld raging sea ; 

And the tempest was swelling 

Round the fisherman's dwelling, 
And she cried, " Dermot darling, oh come back to me !" 

Her beads while she number'd. 

The baby still slumber'd. 
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee ; 
" O blest be that warning, 

My child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." 

" And while they are keeping 
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! 
And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father ! 

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." 



SONGS OF THE 



The dawn of the morning 

Saw Dermot returning, 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; 

And closely caressing 

Her child, with a blessing, 
Said, " I knew that the angels were whispering with thee. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 



THE MORNING DREAM. 



The superstitious believe tlie dream of the night to be false, and that of the morning 
true. 



The eye of weeping 

Had closed in sleeping, 
And I dreamt a bright dream of night ; 

And that sweet dreaming 

Had all the seeming 
Of truth in a softer light. 

I saw thee, smiling. 

And light beguiling 
Beam'd soft from that eye of thine ; 

As in a bower, 

You own'd love's power. 
And fondly vow'd thou wouldst be mine. 

The dream deceived me, — 

For I believed thee, 
In sleep, as in waking hours ; 

But even slumber 

Few joys could number, 
While resting in dreamy bowers : 

2* 



10 SONGS OF THE 



For soon, my waking 
• The soft spell breaking, 

I found fancy false as you ; 

'Tvvas darkness round me — 
The night-dream bound me — 
And I knew the dream was then untrue. 

Again I slumber'd, 
And woes unnumber'd 

Weigh'd on my aching heart ; 

Thy smile had vanish'd, 
And I was banish'd ! — 

For ever doom'd to part. 

From sleep I started, 
All broken-liearted ; 

The morn shone as bright as you ! 
The lark's sweet singing 
My heart's knell ringing, — 

For I knew the morning dream was true. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 11 



THE FAIRY TEMPTER. 



They say Mortals have sometimes been carried away to Fairy-land. 



A FAIR girl was sitting in the green-wood shade, 
List'ning to the music the spring birds made, 
When, sweeter by far than the birds on the tree, 
A voice murmur'd near her, " Oh come, love, with me. 
In earth or air, 
A thing so fair 
I have not seen as thee ! 
Then come, love, with me." 

" With a Star for thy home, in a palace of light, 
Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night ; 
Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold, — 
I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold. 
And pearly caves. 
Beneath the waves, 
All these, all these are thine, , 

If thou wilt be mine." 



12 SONGS OF THE 



Thus whisper'd a Fairy to tempt the fair girl, 
But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl ; 
For she said, " Tho' thy gifts to a poor girl were dear, 
My Father, my Mother, my Sisters are here. 
Oh ! what would be 
Thy gifts to me 
Of Earth, and Sea, and Air, 
If my heart were not there ?" 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 13 



THE NEW MOON. 



When our attention is directed to the New Moon by one of the opposite sex, it is consi- 
dered lucky. 



Oh, don't you remember the lucky new moon, 

Which I show'd you as soon as it peep'd forth at eve '? 

When I spoke of omens, and you spoke of love, 

And in both, the fond heart will for ever believe ! 

And while you whisper'd soul-melting words in my ear, 

I trembled — for love is related to fear ; 

And before that same moon had declined in its wane, 

I held you my own, in a mystical chain ; 

Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow'd soon. 

And I bless'd as I gazed on the lovely new Moon. 

And don't you remember those two trembling stars ? 
That rose up, like gems, from tlie depths of the sea! 
Or like two young lovers, who stole forth at eve 
To meet one another, like you, love, and me. 
And we thought them a type of our meeting on earth, 
Which show'd that our love had in heaven its birth. 
The Moon's waning crescent soon faded away. 
But the love she gave birth to, will never decay ! 
Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow'd soon, 
And I bless when I gaze on the lovely new Moon. 



]4 SONGS OF THE 



THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK 



A four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to endue the finder with 
magic power. 



I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, 
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells ! 
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold, 
For treasure tires the weary sense, — such triumph is but cold j 
But I would play th' enchanter's part, in casting bliss around, — 
Oh ! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found. 

To worth 1 would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears. 

And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years, 

And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had 

grown cold. 
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old ! 
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, 
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! 

The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of love, 
Should see them all returning, — like Noah's foithful dove, 
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's dark'ning sea, 
And MIs'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be ; 
Oh ! tims I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, 
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 15 



THE CHARM, 



They say that a flower may be found in a valley opening to the West, which bestows 
on the finder the power of winning the affection of the person to whom it is presented. 
Hence, it is supposed, has originated the custom of presenting a bouquet. 



They say there's a secret charm which lies 

In some wild flow'ret's bell, 
That grows in a vale where the West wind sighs, 

And where secrets best might dwell ; 
And they who can find the fairy flower, 

A treasure possess that might grace a throne, 
For oh ! they can rule with the softest power, 

The heart they would make their own. 

The Indian has toil'd in the dusky mine 

For the gold that has made him a slave ; 
Or, plucking the pearl from the sea-god's shrine, 

Has tempted the wrath of the wave ; 
But ne'er has he sought, with a love like mine, 

The flower that holds the heart in thrall ; 
Oh ! rather I'd win that charm divine, 

Than their gold and their pearl and all ! 



?i 



16 SONGS OF THE 



I've sought it by day, from morn till eve, 

I've won it — in dreams at night ; 
And then how I grieve, my couch to leave. 

And sigh at the morning's light. 
Yet sometimes I think, in a hopeful hour, 

The blissful moment I yet may see. 
To win the fair flower from the fairy's bower, 

And give it, love — to thee. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 17 



THE FALLING STAR 



It is believed that a wish expressed while we see a Star falling is fulfilled. 



I SAW a star that was falling, 

I wish'd the wish of my soul, 
My heart on its influence calling 

To shed all its gentle control. 
Hope whisper'd my wish would be granted, 

And Fancy soon waved her bright wand, 
My heart in sweet ecstasy panted, 

At the visions were smiling beyond. 
Oh ! like the meteors, — sweeping. 

Thro' darkness their luminous way, 
Are the pleasures too worthless for keeping, 

As dazzling, but fleeting as they. • 

I saw a star that was beaming. 

Steady and stilly and bright, 
Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming 

To keep through the darkness of night : 



18 SONGS OF THE 



Like those two stars in the heaven, 

Are the joys that are false and are true, 
I felt as a lesson 'twas given, 

And thought, my own true Love, of you. 
When I saw the star that was beaming, 

Steady and stilly and bright. 
Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming 

To keep through the darkness of night. 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 19 



THE FAIRY BOY. 



When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy infant has 
been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. 



A MOTHER came, when stars were paling, 

Wailing round a lonely spring, 
Thus she cried while tears were falling. 

Calling on the Fairy King : 
" Why, with spells my child caressing. 

Courting him with fairy joy. 
Why destroy a mother's blessing, 

Wherefore steal my baby boy ? 

" O'er the mountain, thro' the wild wood," 

Where his childhood loved to play. 
Where the. flow'rs are freshly springing, 

There I wander, day by day ; 
There I wander, growing fonder 

Of the child that made my joy. 
On the echoes wildly calling 

To restore my fairy boy. 



20 SONGS OF THE 



" But in vain my plaintive calling, 

Tears are falling all in vain, 
He now sports with fairy pleasure, 

He's the treasure of their train ! 
Fare thee well ! my child, for ever, 

In this world I've lost my joy, 
But in the next we ne'ei* shall sever, 

There I'll find my angel boy." 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 21 



THE LETTER, 



A small spark, attached to the wick of a candle, is considered to indicate the arrival of a 
letter to the one before whom it burns. 



Fare thee well, Love, now thou art going 

Over the wild and trackless sea ; 
Smooth be its waves, and fair the wind blowing 

Tho' 'tis to bear thee far from me. 
But when on the waste of ocean, 

Some happy home-bound bark you see. 
Swear by the truth of thy heart's devotion, 

To send a letter back to me. 

Think of the shore thou'st left behind thee, 

Even when reaching a brighter strand ; 
Let not the golden glories blind thee 

Of that gorgeous Indian land ; 
Send me not its diamond treasures, 

Nor pearls from the depth of its sunny sea, 
But tell me of all thy woes and pleasures, 

In a long letter back to me. 



22 SONGS, &c. 

And while dwelling in lands of pleasure, 

Think, as you bask in their bright sunshine, 
That while the ling'ring time I measure. 

Sad and wintry hours are mine ; 
Lonely by my taper weeping, 

And watching, the spark of promise to see ; 
All for that bright spark, my night watch keeping 

For oh ! His a letter. Love, from thee ! 
To say that soon thy sail will be flowing, 

Homeward to bear thee over the sea ; 
Calm be the waves and swift the wind blowing, 

For oh ! thou art coming back to me ! 



Ccgenbiirji ISallabs 



ISCELLANEOUS -SONGS. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS, 



TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET. 



Tt Is related of Carolan, the Irish bard, that when deprived of sight, and after the lapse 
of twenty years, he recognized his first love by the touch of her hand. The lady's name 
was Bridget Cruise ; and though not a pretty name, it deserves to be recorded, as belong- 
ing to the woman who could inspire such a passion. 



*' True love can ne'er forget : 
Fondly as when we met, 
Dearest, I love thee yet, 

My darling one !" 
Thus sung a minstrel grey 
His sweet impassion'd lay, 
Down by the ocean's spray, 

At set of sun. 
But wither'd was the minstrel's sight, 
Morn to him was dark as night, 
Yet his heart was full of light, 

As he this lay begun ; 
" True love can ne'er forget, 
Fondly as when we met, 
Dearest, I love thee yet, 

My darling one ! 
3 



26 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

" Long years are past and o'er, 
Since from this fatal shore, 
Cold hearts and cold winds bore 

My love from me." 
Scarcely the minstrel spoke. 
When quick, with flashing stroke, 
A boat's light oar the silence broke 

Over the sea ; 
Soon upon her native strand 
Doth a lovely lady land, 
While the minstrel's love-taught hand 

Did o'er his wild harp run j 
" True love can ne'er forget, 
Fondly as when we met, 
Dearest, I love thee yet. 

My darling one ! " 

Where the minstrel sat alone, 
There, that lady fair hath gone. 
Within his hand she placed her own. 

The bard dropp'd on his knee ; 
From his lip soft blessings came. 
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame. 
In trembling tones he named-*— /ter name, 

Though her he could not see ; 
But oh ! — the touch the bard could tell 
Of that dear hand, remember'd well. 
Ah ! — by many a secret spell 

Can true love find his own ! 
For true love can ne'er forget, 
Fondly as when they met ; 
He loved his lady yet, 

His darling one. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 27 



THE BLARNEY. 



There is a certain coign-stone on the summit of Blarney Castle, in the county of Cork, 
the kissing of which is said to impart the gift of persuasion. Hence the phrase, applied 
to those who make a flattering speech, — " you've kissed the Blarney Stone." 



Oh ! did you ne'er hear of " the Blarney" 
That's found near the banks of Killarney ? 

Believe it from me, 

No girl's heart is free, 
Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. 
For the Blarney's so great a deceiver, 
That a girl thinks you're there, though you leave her j 

And never finds out 

All the tricks you're about, 
Till she's quite gone herself, — with your Blarney. 

Oh ! say, would you find this same " Blarney ?" 
There's a castle, not far from Killarney, 

On the top of its wall — 

(But take care you don't fall). 
There's a stone that contains all this Blarney. 
Like a magnet, its influence such is, 
That attraction it gives all it touches j 

If you kiss it, they say, 

From that blessed day 
You may kiss whom you please with your Blarney. 



28 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE HAUNTED SPRING, 



It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes, for the purpose of luring mor- 
tals into Fairy-land. Hunters seem to have been particularly the objects of the lady fai- 
ries' fancies. 



Gaily through the mountain glen 

The hunter's horn did ring, 
As the milk-white doe 
Escaped his bow, 

Down by the haunted spring ; 
In vain his silver horn he wound, — 

'Twas echo answer'd back ; 
For neither groom nor baying hound 

Were on the hunter's track ; 
In vain he sought the milk-white doe 
That made him stray, and 'scaped his bow, 
For, save himself, no living thing 
Was by the silent haunted spring. 

The purple heath-bells, blooming fair. 
Their fragrance round did fling, 

As the hunter lay, 

At close of day, 
Down by the haunted spring. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 29 

A lady fair, in robe of white, 

To greet the hunter came ; 
She kiss'd a cup with jewels bright, 

And pledged him by his name ; 
" Oh Lady fair," the hunter cried, 
" Be thou my love, my blooming bride, 
A bride that well might grace a king ! 
Fair lady of the haunted spring." 

In the fountain clear, she stoop'd, 

And forth she drew a ring ; 
And that bold knight 
His faith did plight, 

Down by the haunted spring. 
But since the day his chase did stray. 

The hunter ne'er was seen; 
And legends tell, he now doth dwell 

Within the hills so green.* 
But still the milk-white doe appears. 
And wakes the peasant's evening fears, 
While distant bugles faintly ring 
Around the lonely haunted spring. 

* Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-places within old 
green hills. 



so LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



NED OF THE HILL, 



Many legends are extant of this romantic minstrel freebooter, whose predatory achieve* 
inents sometimes extended to the hearts of the gentle sex. 



Dark is the evening and silent the hour : 
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tovv'r ? 
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill, 
Oh, who should it be but Ned of the Hill ! 
Who, sings " Lady love, come to me now, 
Come and live merrily under the bough, 

And I'll pillow thy head, 

Where the fairies tread, 
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill !" 

Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall, 

Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call j 

But one little archer, of exquisite skill, 

Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill, 

Who sings, " Lady love, come to me now. 

Come and live merrily under the bough. 

And I'll pillow thy head. 

Where the fairies ti'ead. 
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill." 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 31 

'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower, 
For high is the window, and guarded the tower, 
" But there's always a way where there is a will," 
So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill ! 
Who sings, " Lady love, thou art mine now ! 
We will live merrily under the bough, 

And I'll pillow thy head, 

Where the fairies tread. 
For Ellen is bride to Ned of the Hill !" 



LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE TRYSTING TREE. 



Now the golden sun has set, 

And I am at the trysting tree, 
Dearest, you will not forget 

That here to meet you promised me. 
Now is ev'ry flower closing, 

Falling is the ev'ning dew. 
Birds are with their mates reposing ; 

Where, my true Love, where are you ? 

Darkness is around descending : 

See the lovely ev'ning star, 
Like a brilliant page, attending 

On the young moon's silver car ! 
While together thus they wander 

Through the silent summer sky ; 
So on earth, less bright, but fonder. 

Dearest, so will you and L 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



MEMORY AND HOPE. 



Oft have I mark'd, as o'er the sea 

We've swept before the wind, 
That those whose hearts were on the shore 

Cast longing looks behind ; 
While they, whose hopes have elsewhere been, 

Have watch'd with anxious eyes, 
To see the hills that lay before, 

Faint o'er the waters rise. 

'Tis thus, as o'er the sea of life 

Our onward course we track, 
Th*t anxious sadness looks before. 

The happy still look back ; 
Still smiling on the course they've pass'd, 

As earnest of the rest, — 
'Tis Hope's the charm of wretciiedness. 

While Mem'ry wooes the blest. 

3* 



34 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



CAN'T YOU GUESS? 



Can't you guess why your friends all accuse you 

Of moping, and pleasing the less ? 
And why nothing in life can amuse you ? 

Can't you guess ? can't you guess ? can't you guess ? 
And why now your slumbers are broken, 

By dreams that your fancy possess, 
In which a sweet name is oft spoken, 

Can't you guess ? 

Can't you guess why you always are singing 

The songs that we heard the last spring ? 
Do you think of their musical ringing, 

Or how sweetly the Captain can sing ? 
• With him you were always duetting, 

And your solos were singing the less ; 
Now which is the best for coquetting ? 

Can't you guess ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 35 

'Tis an accident scarce worth repeating, 

Yet people, you know, dear, will talk ; 
But 'tis strange how you always are meeting 

With — some one you know, when you walk. 
You are fond of the grove, — 'tis so shady, 

Besides 'tis frequented the less : 
Is a tale, there, best told to a lady ? — 

But if you won't tell, — I can guess ! 



36 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



BEAUTY AND TIME, 



Time met Beauty one day in her garden, 

Where roses were blooming fair ; 
Time and Beauty were never good friends. 

So she wonder'd wliat brought him there. 
Poor Beauty exclaim'd, with a sorrowful air, 
" I request, Father Time, my sweet roses you'll spare, 
For Time was going to mow them all down, 
While Beauty exclaim'd, with her prettiest frown, 

" Fie, Father Time !" 

" Well," said Time, " at least let me gather 

A few of your roses here, 
'Tis part of my pride, to be always supplied 

With such roses, the whole of the year." 
Poor Beauty consented, tho' half in despair ; 
And Time, as he went, ask'd a lock of her hair, 
And as he stole the soft ringlet so bright. 
He vow'd 'twas for love, but she knew 'twas for spite. 

Oh fie, Father Time ! 



. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 37 

Time went on — and left Beauty in tears ; 

He's a tell-tale, the world well knows, 
So he boasted to all, of the fair lady's fall, 

And show'd the lost ringlet and rose. 
So shock'd was poor Beauty to find that her fame 
Was ruin'd, — tho' she was in no wise to blame, 
That she droop'd like some flow'r that is torn from its clime. 
And her friends all mysteriously said, — " It was Time." 

Oh fie, Father Time ! 



38 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND ' 



THE CHILD AND THE GOSSAMER. 



A siTNBEAM was playing thro' flow'rs that hung 

Round a casement, that look'd to the day, 
And its bright touch waken'd a child, who sung 

As it woke, and began its play ; 
And it play'd with the gossamer beam that shed 

Its fairy brightness around its head : 
Oh 'twas sweet to see that child so fair, 

At play with the dazzling things of air. 

Oh ne'er was a lovelier plaything seen, 

To childhood's simplicity given. 
It seem'd like a delicate link between 

The creatures of earth and heaven : 
But the sunbeam was cross'd by an angry cloud, 

And the gossamer died in the shadowy shroud. 
And the child look'd sad, when the bright things fled. 

And its smile was gone — and its tears were shed. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 39 

Oh gentle child, in thy infant play, 

An emblem of life hast thou seen ; 
For joys are like sunbeams, — more fleeting than they, 

And sorrows cast shadows between ; 
And friends that in moments of brightness are won. 

Like gossamer, only are seen — in the sun. 
Oh ! many a lesson of sadness may 

Be learn'd, from a joyous child at play. 



40 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE FOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWER, 



A GENTLE flow'r of pallid hue, 
Beside a sportive fountain grew, 
And as the streamlet murmur 'd by, 
Methought the flow'ret seem'd to sigh, 

" Yes, you may speed, in sparkling track, 
Your onward course, nor e'er come back, 
And murmur still your flattering song. 
To ev'ry flower you glide along," 
And Fancy said, in tender dream, 

" The flow'r is Woman, Man the stream." 

And Fancy still, in fev'rish dream. 
Pursued the course of that wild stream. 
O'er rocks and falls all heedless cast. 
And in the ocean lost at last : 
" Glide on," methought the flow'ret cried, 
" Bright streamlet, in thy sparkling pride ; 
And when thro' deserts far you roam, 
Perchance you'll sigh for early home, 
And, sorrowing, think of that pale flow'r, 
You hurried by at morning hour." 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 41 



LISTEN. 



How sweet 'tis to listen when some one may tell 
Of the friend that we love and remember so well, 
While, 'midst the soft pleasure, we wonder if thus 
The friend so beloved ever thinks upon us ; 
While the eye with the dew of affection may glisten, 
How sweet to the praise of the loved one to listen ! 

Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen ! 

How sweet 'tis to listen when soft music floats 
O'er the calm lake below, in some favorite notes, 
Whose intervals sweet waken slumbering thought, 
And we listen — altho' not quite sure that we ought ; 
While the soul-melting moonlight o'er calm waters glisten, 
How sweet, but how fatal it may be to listen ! 

Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen ! 

How sweet 'tis to listen, with too willing ear. 
To words that we wish for yet tremble to hear, 
To which " No'' would be cruel, and " Yes" would be weak, 
And an answer is not on the lip, but the cheek ; 
While in eloquent pauses the eyes brightly glisten, — 
Take care what you say, and take care how you listen. 
Take care, how you listen — take care ! 



42 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



UNDER THE ROSE 



If a secret you'd keep there is one I could tell, 

Though I think, from my eyes, you might guess it as well, 

But as it might ruffle another's repose. 

Like a thorn let it be ; — that is — under the rose. 

As Love, in the garden of Venus, one day. 

Was sporting where he was forbidden to play. 

He feared that some Sylph might his mischief disclose, 

So he slily concealed himself — under a rose. 

Where the likeness is found to thy breath and thy lips, 
Where honey the sweetest the summer bee sips. 
Where Love, timid Love, found the safest repose, 
There our secret we'll keep, dearest, — under the rose. 

The maid of the East a fresh garland may wreathe, 
To tell of the passion she dares not to breathe : 
Thus, in many bright flowers she her flame may disclose, 
But in one she finds secresy ; — under the rose. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 43 



MY DARK-HAIR'D GIRL 



My dark-hair'd girl, thy ringlets deck, 

In silken curl, thy graceful neck ; 

Thy neck is like the swan, and fair as the pearl, 

And light as air the step is of my dark-hair'd girl ! 

My dark-hair'd girl, upon thy lip, 

The dainty bee might wish to sip. 

For thy lip it is the rose, and thy teeth they are pearl, 

And diamond is the eye of my dark-hair'd girl ! 

My dark-hair'd girl, I've promised thee, 

And thou thy faith hast given to me, 

And oh ! I would not change for the crown of an earl, 

The pride of being loved by my dark-hair'd girl ! 



44 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



I THINK OF THEE. 



I LOVE to roam at niglit 

By the deep sea, 
When the pale moon is bright, 

And think of thee : 
And as the beacon's light 

Gleams o'er the sea, 
Shedding its guardian light, 

I think of thee. 

When o'er some flow'ry ground 

Night winds breathe free, 
Wafting fresh fragrance round, 

I think of thee ! 
Then, if some trembling star 

Beaming I see. 
Brighter than others far ! — 

I think of thee. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 45 



Though, love, by fate forbid 

Thou art to me. 
Yet, like a treasure hid, 

I think of thee ; 
And though thy plighted kiss 

Mine ne'er can be, 
Next is the secret bliss 

To think of thee ! 



46 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



DIVIDED LOVE 



When Love o'er the warm heart is stealing 

His mystic, his magical chain, 
How wild is the transport of feeling, 

We scarce can call pleasure or pain ! 
Till 'midst the bright joys that surround us, 

Our bondage we tremble to see ; — 
But so closely his fetters have bound us, 

We struggle in vain to be free ! 

As vain is the hope of retreating 

From peril that lurks in the eyes, 
When glances too frequent are meeting, 

And sighs are re-echoed by sighs ; 
When thus, with two hearts that are tender, 

The folly so equal hath been, 
'Tis meet that they both should surrender, 

And share the soft bondage between. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 47 



YES AND NO. 



There are two little words that we use, 

Without thinking from whence they both came, 
But if you will list to my muse, 

The birth-place of each I will name : 
The one came from Heaven, to bless. 

The other was sent from below : 
What a sweet little angel is " Yes !" 

What a demon-like dwarf is that " No !" * 

And " No" has a friend he can bid 

To aid all his doings as well, 
In the delicate arch it lies hid 

That adorns the bright eye of the belle ; 
Beware of the shadowy Frown 

Which darkens her bright brow of snow, 
As, bent like a bow to strike down, 

Her lip gives you death with a " No." 



48 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

But " Yes" has a twin-sister sprite, — 

'Tis a Smile you will easily guess, — 
That sheds a more heavenly light 

On the doings of dear little " Yes ;" 
Increasing the charm of the lip 

That is going some lover to bless, 
Oh sweet is the exquisite smile 

That dimples and plays around " Yes. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 49 



I LEAVE YOU TO GUESS.* 



There's a lad that I know ; and I know that he 

Speaks softly to me 

The cushla-ma-chree. 
He's the pride of my heart, and he loves me well, 
But who the lad is, — I'm not going to tell. 

He's as straight as a rush, and as bright as the stream 

That around it doth gleam, 

Oh ! of him how I dream ; 
I'm as high as his shoulder — the way that I know 
Is, he caught me one day, just my measure to show. 

He whisper'd a question one day in my ear ; 

When he breathed it, — oh dear ! 

How I trembled with fear ! 
What the question he ask'd was, I need not confess. 
But the answer I gave to the question was—" Yes." 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 
4 



60 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

His eyes they are bright, and they looked so kind 

When I was inclined 

To speak my mind. 
And his breath is so sweet — oh, the rose's is less, 
And how I found it out, — why, I leave you to guess. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 51 



OH! ONCE I HAD LOVERS.* 



Oh ! once I had lovers in plenty, 

When a colleen I lived in the glen ; 
I kill'd fifty before I was twenty : — 

How happy the moments flew then ! 
Then Winter I ne'er could discover, 

For Love brighten'd Time's dusky wing ; — 
Oh ! when ev'ry new month brought a lover, 

The year it seem'd always like Spring. 

But Cupid's more delicate pinion, 

Could never keep up with old Time ; 
So the grey-beard assumes his dominion, 

When the mid-day of life rings its chime: 
Then gather, when morning is shining, 

Some flow'r while the bright moments last. 
Which closely around the heart twining, 

Will live when the summer is past ! 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 



52 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE LAND OF THE WEST.* 



Oh ! come to the West, love — oh ! come there with me ; 
'Tis a sweet land of verdure that springs from the sea, 
Where fair Plenty smiles from her emerald throne ; 
Oh, come to the West, and I'll make thee my own ! 
I'll guard thee, I'll tend thee, I'll love thee the best, 
And you'll say there's no land like the land of the West ! 

The South has its roses and bright skies of blue, 

But ours are more sweet with love's own changeful hue — 

Half sunshine, half tears, — like the girl I love best, 

Oh ! what is the South to the beautiful West ! 

Then come to the West, and the rose on thy mouth 

Will be sweeter to me than the flow'rs of the South f 

The North has its snow-tow'rs of dazzling array, 

All sparkling with gems in the ne'er-setting day j 

There the Storm-King may dwell in the halls he loves best, 

But the soft-breathing Zephyr he plays in the West. 

Then come there with me, where no cold wind doth blow. 

And thy neck will seem fairer to me than the snow ! 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 53 

The Sun in the gorgeous East chaseth the night 
When he riseth, refreshed in his glory and might, 
But where doth he go when he seeks his sweet rest 1 
Oh ! doth he not haste to the beautiful West ? 
Then come there with me ; 'tis the land I love best, 
'.Tis the land of my sires ! — 'tis my own darling West ! 



34 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE WIND AND THE WEATHERCOCK.* 



The summer Wind lightly was playing 
Round the battlement high of the tow'r, 

Where a Vane, like a lady, was staying, 
A lady vain perch'd iff her bow'r. 

To peep round the corner the sly Wind would try : 

But vanes, you know, never look in the wind's eye ; 
And so she kept turning shily away : — 
Thus they kept playing all through the day. 

The summer Wind said, " She's coquetting ;" 
But each belle has her points to be found : 

Before evening, I'll venture on betting, 
She will not then go but come round ! 

So he tried from the east and he tried from the west, 

And the north and the south, to try which was best ;- 
But still she kept turning shily away : — 
Thus they kept playing all through the day. 

* From the novel of Rory O'More 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 55 

At evening, her hard heart to soften, 

He said, " You're a flirt, I am sure ; 
But if vainly you're changing so often, 

No lover you'll ever secure." 
" Sweet sir," said the Vane, " it is you who begin, 
When you change so often, in me 'tis no sin ; 

If you cease to flutter, and steadily sigh, 

And only be constant — I'm sure so will I." 



56 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



SLEEP, MY LOVE.* 



Sleep, my love — sleep, my love, 

Wake not to weep, my love. 
Though thy sweet eyes are all hidden from me : 

Why shouldst thou waken to sorrows like mine, love, 

While thou may'st, in dreaming, taste pleasure divine, love. 

For blest are the visions of slumbers like thine, love — 
So sleep thee, nor know who says, " Farewell to thee !" 

Sleep, my love — sleep, my love, 
Wake not to weep, my love. 

Though thy sweet eyes are all hidden from me : 
Hard 'tis to part without one look of kindness, 
Yet sleep more resembles fond love, in its blindness, 
And thy look would enchain me again ; so I find less 

Of pain, to say, " Farewell, sweet slumb'rer, to thee !" 

* From the novel of Roi-y O'More. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 57 



THE STAR OF THE DESERT, 



In the depths of the Desert, when lonely and drear 
The sands round the desolate traveller appear, 
The splendor of day gives no aid to his path, 
For land-mark, nor compass, the traveller hath. 
But when night sheds her shadow and coolness around, 
Then hark ! how the bells of the camels resound ; 
For the trav'ler is up when the Star sheds its ray, 
'Tis the light of his hope, 'tis the guide of his way. 

And what is this world but a wilderness vast ? 
Where few leave a trace o'er the waste they have pass'd, 
And many are lost in their noon-day of pride, 
That shines forth to dazzle — but seldom to guide. 
Oh, blest is the fate of the one who hath found 
Some load-star to guide thro' the wilderness round ; 
And such have I found, my belov'd one, in thee — 
For thou art the Star of the Desert to me ! 



SS LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



OH, SHE IS A BRIGHT-EYED THING! 



Oh, she is a bright-eyed thing ! 
And her glances, wildly playing, 
While they radiance round her fling, 
Set my loving fancy straying, 
Where to find a thing so bright : 
'Tis not in the diamond's light ; 
The jewels of the richest mine 
Half so brilliantly may not shine : — 
For gems are cold, and cannot vie 
With living light from beauty's eye ! 

Oh, she is a bright-lip'd thing ! 
And her mouth, like budding roses, 
Fragrance all around doth fling 
When its matchless arch uncloses ; 
With a voice, whose silver tone 
Makes the raptured listener own 
It may be true that poets tell, 
That nightingales 'mid roses dwell ; 
For every word she says to me 
Sounds like sweetest melody ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 59 



NATIVE MUSIC. 



Oh, native music ! beyond comparing 
The sweetest far on the ear that falls, 
Thy gentle numbers the heart remembers, 
Thy strains enchain us in tender thralls. 

Thy tones endearing, 

Or sad or cheering, 
The absent soothe on a foreign strand : 

Oh ! who. can tell 

What a holy spell 
Is in the song of our native land ? 

The proud and lowly, the pilgrim holy, 
The lover, kneeling at beauty's shrine. 
The bard who dreams by the haunted streams,- 
All, all are touch'd by thy power divine ! 

The captive cheerless. 

The soldier fearless ; 
The mother,— taught by Nature's hand, 

Her child when weeping, 

Will lull to sleeping. 
With some sweet song of her native land ! 



60 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE POOR BLIND BOY, 



A MAID, with a heart that could feel, 

Met a poor little beggar one day. 
Who, in strains full of woe, did appeal 

As he wander'd alone by the way ; 
A light hazel wand in his hand. 

He in finding his way did employ, 
As he cried, " Oh pity, pity. 

Oh pity the poor blind boy ! 

With a tear she bestowed him relief, 

And, sighing, she turned to depart ; 
When the boy, with the air of a thief, 

Cried, " Stand, and deliver — your heart !" 
His staff was soon changed to a bow, 

Which, we know, is a dangerous toy, 
In the hands of a certain urchin, 

Who, they say, is a poor blind boy. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 61 

This beggar-boy, bold in his theft, 

Stole her heart and bewildered her head, 
And the maiden in anguish he left. 

For his rags turned to wings — and he fled : 
So, ladies, beware of all youths 

Who begging petitions employ. 
And cry, " Pity, pity, pity, 

Oh, pity your poor blind boy !" ' 



62 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



NEVER DESPAIR. 



Oh never despair, for our hopes oftentime 
Spring swiftly as flow'rs in some tropical clime, 
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night 
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light ; 
The mariner marks where the tempest sings loud 
That the rainbow is brighter the darker the cloud, 
Then up ! up ! Never despair ! 

The leaves which the Sybil presented of old, 
Tho' lessen'd in number were not worth less gold j 
And tho' Fate steal our joys, do not think they're the best, 
The few she has spared may be worth all the rest ; 
Good-fortune oft comes in Adversity's form, 
And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm, 
Then up ! up ! Never despair ! 

And when all creation was sunk in the flood, 
Sublime o'er the deluge the Patriarch stood ; 
Tho' destruction around him in thunder was hurl'd, 
Undaunted he looked on the wreck of the world ; 
For high o'er the ruin hung Hope's blessed form, 
The rainbow beamed bright thro' the gloom of the storm, 
Then up ! up ! Never despair ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 63 



THE CONVENT BELLE 



There once was a novice, as I've heard tell, 

A novice of some renown, 
Whose raven hair in ringlets fell 
O'er his yet unshaven crown ; 
But his vows as yet he had never said, 
Except to a blooming blue-eyed maid. 
And she had never confessed, till now, 
To this novice, who yet had not made his vow. 
So pious she grew, that early and late. 
She was tapping, alone, at the convent gate ; 
And so often she went her sins to tell. 
That the villagers called her the Convent Belle. 
Ding dong, 
My song. 
My song's of a Convent Belle. 

The novice continued the maid to hear, 
And swiftly the months went round ; 

He had nearly passed his trial year, 
Before he was guilty found : 



64 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

But then, suspicion began to spread, 
So the cowl he cast from his curly head, 
The maiden he wedded next morning tide. 
And his penitent pale was his blooming bride ! 
The Prior he stormed at the bridegroom meek, 
Who answered him, fast, — with a smile on his cheek, 
" Good father, indeed I have acted well, — 
I was only ringing the Convent Belle." 

Ding dong, 

My song. 

My song's of a Convent Belle. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 65 



OH! DON'T YOU REMEMBER? 



Oh ! don't you remember the beautiful glade, 
Where in childhood together we playfully stray'd, 
Where wreaths of wild flowers so often I made, 
Thy tresses so brightly adorning ? 
Oh, light of foot and heart were then 
The happy children of the glen : — 
The cares that shade the brows of men 
Ne'er darken childhood's morning. 

Oh ! who can forget the young innocent hours 
That were passed in the shade of our home's happy bow'rs, 
When the wealth that we sought for was only wild flow'rs, 
And we thought ourselves rich when we found them ? 
Oh ! where's the tie that friends e'er knew. 
So free from stain, so firm, so true, 
As links that with the wild flowers grew, 
And in sweet fetters bound them ? 



M LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE LAND OF DREAMS * 



There is a land where Fancy's twining 

Her flowers around life's faded tree ; 
Where light is ever softly shining, 

Like sunset o'er a tranquil sea ; 
'Tis there thou dwell 'st in beauty's brightness, 

More fair than aught on earth e'er seems, 
'Tis there my heart feels most of lightness, 

There — in the lovely Land of Dreams, 

'Tis there in groves I often meet thee, 

And wander through the silent shade, 
While I, in gentlest accents, greet thee, 

My own, my sweet, my constant maid I 
There, by some fountain fair, reposing, 

While all around so tranquil seems, 
We wait the-golden evening's closing, 

There — in the lovely Land of Dreams. 

• From the novel of Rory O'More. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 67 

But when the touch of earthly waking 

Hath broken slumber's sweetest spell, 
Those fairy joys of fancy's making 

Are in my heart remembered well. 
The day, in all its sunshine splendor, 

Less dear to me than midnight seems, 
When visions shed a light more tender 

Around the lovely Land of Dreams ! 



68 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



JESSIE 



Sweet Jessie was young and simple, 

And mirth beam'd in her eye, 
And her smile made a rosy dimple 

Where love might wish to lie ; 
But when lovers were sighing after, 

And vowed she was matchless fair, 
Her silver-sounding laughter, 

Said, love had not been there. 

The summer had seen her smiling, 

'Mong flowers as fair as she, 
But autumn beheld her sighing, 

When the leaves fell from the tree ; 
And the light of her eye was shaded. 

And her brow had a cast of care. 
And the rose on her cheek was faded, 

For oh ! love had been there. 

When winter winds were blowing, 
She roved by the stormy shore. 

And looked o'er the angry ocean. 
And shrunk at the breakers' roar ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 69 

And her sighs, and her tearful wonder, 

At the perils that sailors dare, 
In the storm and the battle's thunder, 

Showed love was trembling there. 

No ring is upon her finger, 

And the raven locks are grey. 
Yet traces of beauty linger, 

Like the light of the parting day ; 
She looks, with a glance so tender, 

On a locket of golden hair, 
And a tear to his ship's defender, 

Shows love's own dwelling there. 



70 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE HOUR I PASS WITH THEE, 



The hour 1 pass with thee, my love, 
Doth yield this heart the most delight, 
Oh ! what on earth is half so bright 
As hours I pass with thee ? 
And as the breeze, that fans the grove, 
.. Is perfumed by the fragrant flowers, 
So time can sweetness steal from hours 
I pass, my love, with thee ! 

When Mem'ry o'er the distant past 
Pursues her course, with weary wing, 
The only joys she back can bring. 
Are hours I've passed with thee ! 
And when, through future time, as fast 
Fond Fancy steers, with hopeful pow'r, 
Her leading star is still the hour 
I've yet to pass with thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 71 



THE ARAB. 



The interesting fact on which this ballad is founded, occurred to Mr. Davidson, the 
celebrated traveller, between Mount Sinai and Suez, on his overland return from India in 
1829. He related the story to me shortly before his leaving England on his last fatal 
journey to Timbuctoo. 



The noontide blaze on the desert fell, 
As the traveller reached the wished-for welL; 
But vain was the hope that had cheered him on, 
His hope in the desert — the waters — were gone. 

Fainting, he called on the Holy Name, 
And swift o'er the desert an Arab came, 
And with him he brought of the blessed thing, 
That failed the poor traveller at the spring. 

"Drink!" said the Arab— "tho' I must fast. 
For half of my journey is not yet past, 
'Tis long ere my home and my children I see, 
But the crystal treasure I'll share with thee." 

" Nay," said the weary one ; — *' let me die, — 
For thou hast even more need than I ; 
And children hast thou that are watching for thee, 
And I am a lone one — none watch for me." 



72 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

"Drink!" said the Arab.^" My children shall see 
Their father returning ; — fear not for me : — 
For He who hath sent me to thee this day 
Will watch over me on niy desert way !" 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 73 



THE SUNSHINE OF THE HEART, 



The sunshine of the heart be mine 

That beams a charm around ; 
Where'er it sheds its ray divine, 
Is all enchanted ground ! 
No fiend of care 
May enter there, 
Tho' Fate employ her art : — 

Her darkest powers all bow to thine, 
Bright sunshine of the heart ! 

Beneath the splendor of thy ray 

How lovely all is made ! 
Bright fountains in the desert play. 
And palm trees cast their shade ; 
Thy morning light 
Is rosy bright, 
And when thy beams depart, 

Still glows with charms thy latest ray, 
Sweet sunshine of the heart ! 



74 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER, 



Oh ! 'tis sweet to remember how brightly 

The days o'er us swiftly have flown, 
When the hearts that we prize beat as lightly, 

And fed upon hopes like our own ; 
When with grief we were scarcely acquainted, 

While joy was our own bosom friend ; 
Oh ! days — wing'd too swiftly with pleasure, 

Ye are past — and our dream's at an end : 
Yet 'tis sweet to remember ! 

The walks, where we've roam'd without tiring ; 

The songs — that together we've sung ; 
The jest — to whose merry inspiring 

Our mingling of laughter hath rung. 
Oh ! trifles like these become precious 

Embalm'd in the mem'ry of years ! 
The smiles of the past — so remember'd 

How often they waken our tears ! 

Yet 'tis sweet to remember ' 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 75 



THE SLAVE TRADE. 



Written at the period of the " Abolition"' question. 



When Venus first rose from the wave, 

Where of sea-foam they gracefully made her, 
Three cheers for the goddess they gave 

As she launch'd, in her shell, the fair trader ; 
But she, — an insurgent by birth, 

Unfetter'd by legal or grave trade, 
And defying our laws on the earth, 

So boldly embark'd in the Slave Trade. 

O'er the world, from that hour of her birth, 

She carried her Slave Trade victorious ; 
And then, to her daughters of earth 

Entrusted the privilege glorious : 
•'' Unfetter'd," she cried, "never leave 

One slave to object to your brave trade, 
While you stand to your colors, believe 

You may always insist on your Slave Trade !" 



76 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

" Oh ! 'tis glorious a heart to subdue, 

By the conquering light of your glances : 
By the smile that endangers a few, 

And the sigh that whole dozens entrances. 
Unbind not a link of the chain, 

Stand by me each merry and grave maid ; 
Let senators thunder in vain — 

The ladies will still have their Slave Trade !" 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 77 



BRING ME THAT ANCIENT BOWL, 



Being me that ancient bowl of wine, 

Bright as the ruby's blaze, 
Around its brim methinks still shine 

The smiles of former days ! 
And thus, while to my lip it bears 

The treasures of the vine, 
Deeply my soul the transport shares 

From this old bowl of mine ! 

Bring me the harp, for mem'ry's sake : 

That harp of silent string — 
I long its slumbering chords to wake 

In strains I used to sing : 
And as I dream of that fair form, 

In youth adored — oh then, 
Once more I feel my heart grow warm, 

And sing of love again ! 



78 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



WHEN AND WHERE 



Written to a popular organ tune. 



" Oh tell me when and tell me where 
Am I to meet with thee, my fair ?" 
" I'll meet thee in the secret night, 
When stars are beaming gentle light, 
Enough for love, but not too bright 
To tell who blushes there." 

" You've told me when, now tell me lohere, 
Am I to meet with thee, my fair ?" 
" I'll meet thee in that lovely place, 

Where flow'rets dwell in sweet embrace. 

And zephyr comes to steal a grace 
To shed on the midnight air." 

" You've told me lohen, and told me ivhere, 
But tell me hoio I'll know thou'rt there ?" 
" Thou'lt know it when I sing the lay 
That wandering boys on organs play, 
No lover, sure, can miss his way. 
When led by this signal air." 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 79 



SOFT ON THE EAR 



Soft on the ear falls the serenade, 

When the calm evening is closing ; 
Sweet are the echoes by music made, 
When the lake is in moonlight reposing : 
Hark, how the sound 
Circles around, — 
As if each note of the measure 
Was caught, as it fell. 
In some water-sprite's shell, 
Who floated away with the treasure. 

Soft on the ear, &c. 

Soft on the ear falls the serenade 

When we guess who the soft strain is breathing ; 
The spirit of song is more melting made. 
With the spirit of tenderness wreathing. 
Oh, such the delight. 
In the calm summer's night, 
When thro' casements, half open, is stealing 
The soft serenade 
To the half-waking maid. 
Who sighs at each tender appealing. 

Soft on the ear, &c. 



80 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



'TWAS LOVING THEE TOO WELL, 



Oh, frown not, lady, frown not so, 

On one whose heart is thine ; 
Let one kind word before I go, 

Let one kind look be mine ! 
An aching heart, while e'er I live, 

My fault shall deeply tell ; 
But oh ! — 'twas one thou might'st forgive — 

'Twas loving thee too well. 

Oh ! if that smile had been less sweet, 

That cheek less blooming been ; 
Those eyes less bright I used to meet, 

Or were those charms less seen ; 
Or if this heart had been too cold 

To feel thy beauty's spell, — 
Thou ne'er hadst call'd thy slave too bold, 

For loving thee too well ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 81 



WHEN GENTLE MUSIC. 



When gentle music's sounding — ■ 

Such as this ; 
'Tis sweet when friends surrounding 

Share our bliss : 
But love them as we may, 

We love them less, when near, 
Than when, through mem'ry's tear 
We view them — far away. 

When over deserts burning, 

Far we roam, 

'Tis sweet, at last, returning 

To our home : 

Be't happy as it may, 

That home no bliss bestows 

So fairy-bright, as those 

We fancied when away. 
5* 



82 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



And when fond hearts are meeting, 

Beating high ; 
How sweet the brilliant greeting 

Of the eye ! 
But tho' so bright its ray, 
To lovers far more dear 
Is the sad, the secret tear 
Shed for one — who's far away. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 83 



HOW SWEET 'TIS TO RETURN, 



How sweet, how sweet 'tis to return 

Where once we've happy been, 
Tho' paler now life's lamp may burn, 

And years have roU'd between ; 
And if the eyes beam welcome yet 

That wept our parting then. 
Oh ! in the smiles of friends thus met 

We live whole years again ! 

They tell us of a fount that flow'd 

In happier days of yore. 
Whose waters bright fresh youth bestow'dj 

Alas ! the fount's no more. 
But smiling Memory still appears, 

Presents her cup, and when 
We sip the sweets of vanish'd years, 

We live those years again. 



b4 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



SONG OF THE SPANISH PEASANT, 



How oft have we met 

Whej'e the gay castanet 
In the sprightly fandango was sounding ; 
Where no form seem'd so light, 
Nor no eye beam'd so bright 

As thine, my Loren9a, to me ; 
Though many surrounding, 

Were lovely as maidens might be, 
In form and in face, — 
Oh ! they wanted the grace 

That ever is playing round thee. 

My pretty brunette, 
Canst thou ever forget, 
How I trembled, lest hope should deceive me ? 
When under the shade 
By the orange grove made, 

I whisper'd my passion to thee. 
And oh Love ! believe me, 

Like that ever-blossoming tree,* 
Thro' sunshine and shade. 
In this heart, dearest maid. 
Is love ever blooming for thee. 

• The orange-tree blossoms through the whole year. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 85 



THE HAPPIEST TIME IS NOW. 



Talk not to me of future bliss ! 

Talk not to me of joys gone by ! 
For us, the happiest hour is this, 

When love bids time to fly. 
The future — doubt may overcast, 

To shadow hope's young brow ; 
Oblivion's veil may shroud the past, 

The happiest time is now ! 

Tho' flowers, in spicy vases thrown. 

Some odor yet exhale ; 
Their fragrance, ere the bloom was flown. 

Breathed sweeter on the gale ; 
Like faded flowers, each parted bliss 

Let memory keep — but how 
Can joy that's past be like to this ? 

The happiest time is now ! 



S6 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

Unmark'd our coui'se before us lies 

O'er time's eternal tide ; 
And soon the sparkling ripple dies 

We raise, as on we glide ; 
Our barks the brightest bubbles fling 

For ever from their prow ; — 
Then let us gaily sail and sing, 

" The happiest time is now !" 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 87 



THE SILENT FAREWELL. 



In silence we parted, for neither could speak ; 
But the tremulous lip and the fast-fading cheek 
To both were betraying what neither could tell — 
How deep was the pang of that silent farewell. 

There are signs — ah ! the slightest, that love understands. 
In the meeting of eyes — in the parting of hands ; 
In the quick-breathing sighs that of deep passion tell — 
Oh ! such were the signs of our silent farewell ! 

There's a language more glowing, love teaches the tongue. 
Than poet e'er dreamed, or than minstrel e'er sung ; 
But oh ! far beyond all such language could tell. 
The love that was told in that silent farewell ! 



83 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



TIS TIME TO FLY 



Beware the chain love's wreathing, 

When some sweet voice you hear, 
Whose gentlest, simplest breathing 

Is music to thine ear ; 
And when, in glances fleeting. 

Some deep and speaking eye 
With thine is often meeting, 

Oh then — 'tis time to fly ! 

If there be form of lightness 

To which thine eyes oft stray, 
Or neck of snowy brightness — 

Remember'd — when away ; 
These symptoms love resemble. 

And when some hand is nigh, 
Whose touch doth make thee tremble, 

Oh ! then — 'tis time to fly ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 89 



But if that voice of sweetness, 

Like echo, still return ; 
And if that eye of brightness 

With fascination burn ; 
To 'scape thou art not able, 

No effort vainly try, 
For, like the bird in fable, 

Alas ! thou canst not fly ! 



90 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



MOLLY CAREW, 



OcH hone ! and what will I do ? 

Sure my love is all crost 

Like a bud in the frost ; 
And there's no use at all in my going to bed, 
For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that comes into my head, 

And 'tis all about you, 

My sweet Molly Carew — 
And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame ! 

You're complater than Nature 

In every feature. 

The snow can't compare 

With your forehead so fair, 
And I rather would see just one blink of your eye 
Than the prettiest star that shines out of the sky, 

And by this and by that, 

For the matter o' that, 
You're more distant by far than that same ! 

Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
I'm alone in this world without you. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 91 

Och hone ! but why should I spake 

Of your forehead and eyes, 

When your nose it defies 
Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in rhyme, 
Tho' there's one Burke, he says, that would call it snublime, — 

And then, for your cheek ! 

Troth, 'twould take him a week 
Its beauties to tell, as he'd^ rather. 

Then your lips ! oh, machree ! 

In their beautiful glow, 

They a pattern might be 

For the cherries to grow. 
'Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we know. 
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago. 

But at this time o' day, 

'Pon my conscience I'll say, 
Such cherries might tempt a man's father ! 

Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
I'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! by the man in the moon, 

You taze me all ways 

That a woman can plaze. 
For you dance twice as high with that thief, Pat Magee, 
As when you take share of a jig, dear, with me, 

Tho' the piper I bate, 

For fear the owld chate 
Wouldn't play you your favorite tune. 

And when you're at mass, 

My devotion you crass, 

For 'tis thinking of you, 

I am, Molly Carew, 
While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep, 
That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep, 



92 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

Oh lave off that bonnet, 
Or else I'll lave on it, 
The loss of my vvandherin' sowl ! 
Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
Och hone ! like an owl, 
Day is night, dear, to me, without you ! 

Och hone ! don't provoke me to do it ; 

For there's girls by the score 

That loves me — and more. 
And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd meet 
My wedding all marching in pride down the street, 

Troth, you'd open your eyes. 

And you'd die with surprise 
To think 'twasn't you was come to it ! 

And faith, Katty Naile, 

And her cow, I go bail. 

Would jump if I'd say, 
" Katty Naile, name the day." 
And tho' you're fair and fresh as a morning in May, 
While she's short and dark like a cold winter's day. 

Yet if you don't repent 

Before Easter, when Lent 
Is over I'll marry for spite ! 

Och hone ! weirasthru ! 

And when I die for you. 
My ghost will haunt you every night ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 93 



WOULDYOUKNOWWHOHASMYVOW? 



WoiTLD you know who has my vow, 

She who holds my heart in keeping, 
Graceful as the willow-bough 

O'er the streamlet weeping ; 
With lips so bright, and teeth so white, 

And eyes that shame the stars at night. 
Oh could I tell her beauties right 

It would mar your sleeping ! 

Would you know who has my vow, 

She, whose voice, like echo, telling 
That there is an answering part 

Within her young heart dwelling ; 
The softest sound that e'er did wake 

The echoes of some fairy lake, 
Ne'er bore the breeze along the brake 

A sound so softly swelling ! 



94 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

Could you know who has my vow, 

You would wonder at my daring ; 
For, to grace so fair a brow, 

A crown is worth the sharing ! 
With step as light as mountain fawn, 
And blush as lovely as the dawn. 
No form by fancy ever drawn 
With her's can hold comparing ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 95 



MY GENTLE LUTE, 



My gentle lute, alone with thee, 

I wake thy saddest tone ; 
It seems as if thou mourn'st with me 

For hours of gladness gone. 
If, haply, 'mongst thy wailing strings 

My finger lightly fall, 
Some vision of the past it brings — 

Of days we can't recall. 

My gentle lute, how oft have we 

Beneath the moonlight ray. 
To beauty's ear breath'd harmony 

In many a love-taught lay ! 
But she who loved — and he who sung 

Are changed, my lute, and thou 
That oft to lays of love hath rung. 

Must tell of sorrow now. 



96 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

Some happier hand in future hours 

May wake thy liveliest string, 
And wreathe thee o'er, my lute, with flow'rs 

As I did in my spring. 

But yield, till then, before we part. 

Thy saddest tone to me, 
And let thy mourning master's heart 

An echo find in thee. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 97 



THE ANGEL'S WING, 



There is a German supsrstitioii, that when a sudden silence takes place in a company, an 
angel at that moment makes a circuit among them, and the first person who breaks the 
silence is supposed to have been touched by the wing of the passing seraph. For the \:\u- 
poses of poetry, I thought two persons preferable to many, in illustrating this very be:.u:i- 
ful supcritition. 



When by the evening's quiet light 

There sit two silent lovers, 
They say, while in such tranquil plight, 

An angel round thern hovers ; 
And further still old legends tell, — 
The first who breaks the silent spell, 
To say a soft and pleasing thing. 
Hath felt the passing Angel's wing. 

Thus, a musing minstrel stray'd 

By the summer ocean, 
Gazing on a lovely maid. 

With a bard's devotion : — 
Yet this love he never spoke, 

Till now the silent spell he broke ; — 
The hidden fire to flame did spring, 

Fann'd by the passing Angel's wing ! 
6 



98 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



" I have loved thee well and long, 

With love of Heaven's own making ! — 

This is not a poet's song, 

But a true heart's speaking, — 

I will love thee, still, untired !" 

He felt — he spoke — as one inspired — 

The words did from Truth's fountain spring, 
Upwaken'd by the Angel's wing ! 

Silence o'er the maiden fell. 

Her beauty lovelier making ; — 
And by her blush, he knew full well 

The dawn of love was breaking. 
It came like sunshine o'er his heart ! 
He felt that they should never part, 
She spoke — and oh ! — the lovely thing 
Had felt the passing Angel's wing. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 99 



WHO ARE YOU? 



" There are very impudent people in London," said a country cousin of mine in 1837. 
"As I walked down the Strand, a fellow stared at me and sk, uted, 'Who are you V 
Five minutes after, another, passing me, cried, ' Flare up ;' — but £ civil gentleman, close to 
his heels, kindly asked, ' Kow is your mother 1 ' " 



" Who are you ? — who are you ? 
Little boy that's running after 
Every one up and down, 

Mingling sighing with your laughter?" 
" I am Cupid, lady Belle, 

I am Cupid and no other." 
" Little boy, then pr'ythee tell 

How is Venus ? — Hoiv's your Mother ? 
Little boy, little boy, 

I desii'e you tell me true, 
Cupid, oh ! you're alter'd so, 

No wonder I cry, Who are you ? 



Who are you ? — who are you 1 
Little boy, where is your bow ? 

You had a bow, my little boy 

" So had you, ma'am, — long ago." 



100 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



" Little boy, where is your torch ?" 
" Madam, I have given it up : 
Torches are no use at all. 

Hearts will never now Jlarc up." 
" Naughty boy, naughty boy. 

Such words as these I never knew 
Cupid, oh ! you're alter'd so, 

No wonder I say, Wko are you ?'* 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 101 



MARCH ! 



The Song of the Month, fioni Bentiey's Miscellany for 1837 



March, March ! — Why the deil don't you march 

Faster than other months out of your order ? 
You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the East, 

And liigh-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border ; 
Now, our umbrellas spread, flutter above our head, 

And will not stand to our arms in good order ; 
While, flapping and tearing, they set a man swearing. 

Round the corner where blasts blow away lialf the border ! 

March, March ! — I am ready to faint, 

That Saint Patrick had not his nativity's casting ; 
I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad 

Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting ; 
But as it was his fate, Irishmen emulate 

Doing what Doom or St. Paddy may order; 
And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for their right, 

They'll stick to their flag while a thread's in its border. 



102 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

March, March ! — Have you no feeling, 

E'en for the fair sex who make us knock under ? 
You cold-blooded divil, you're far more uncivil 

Than Summer himself with his terrible thunder ! 
Every day we meet ladies down Regent Street, 

Holding their handkerchiefs up in good order ; 
But, do all that we can, the most mei'ciful man 

Musi see the blue noses peep over the border. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 103 



MORNING, SWEET MORNING 



Morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright like the op'ning of day, 
Wakins; to frao-rance the fresh-blooming flow'rs, 
Lighting with sunshine our earliest hours ; 
Evening, with shadows, is hurrying on, 
Let us be gay ere the noontide be gone : — 
For shadows increase, as the sunshine grows less ; 
Then gather the joys that our youth may possess ! 
Oh ! morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright, like the op'ning of day ! 

The dew on the rose-bud at morning may lie, 
And tear-drops will tremble in youth's sparkling eye, 
But soon as the sun sheds his warmth and his light, 
The dew-drops all vanish — the flow'rets are bright. 
But, at cold evening, the dew falling fast. 
Will rest on the rose — for the sunshine is past : — 
And the tear-drop of age will be lingering thus, 
When the sunshine of soul hath departed from us. 
Oh ! morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright like the op'ning of day ! 



yoi LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



LOVE MEI 



Love me ! Love me ! — dearest, love me ! 

Let whate'er betide ; 
Though it be forbid by fate 

To bless me with a bride : 
Our hearts may yet be link'd in one 

Though fortune frown above me, 
That hope will gently guide me on, 

Then love me, dearest ! Love me f 

Love me, dearest ! Deai-est, love me ! 

Brighter days may shine ; 
When thou shalt call me all thine own, 

And thou'lt be only mine ! 
But should that bliss be still denied. 

Still fortune frovvn above me, 
Thou'lt be my choice — though not my bride, 

Then love me, dearest ! Love me ! 



MISCELLAx^EOUS SONGS. 105 



SERENADE 



Hark to my lute sweetly ringing! 

List, love, to me ; 
Dearest, thy lover is singing — 

Singing to thee ; — 
Yet, to the balcony stealing. 

No mantled beauty 1 see, 
No casement is dimly revealing 

Thy fair form to me. 

Perchance thou art sleeping — my strain, love, 

Meets not thine ear, 
And visions, in shadowy train, love. 

Haply appear. 
Wake thee ! and hearken to me, love, 

If Fancy should whisper of ill j 
But if thy dream be of me, love. 

Oh ! slumber still. 
6* 



106 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Their bright watch in Heaven now keeping, 

Beams ev'ry star ; 
But the sweet eye that is sleeping 

Brighter is far : — 
For when the pale dawn advances 

Tremulous star fires decay, 
While e'en at noon-tide thy glance is 

Bright as the day. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 107 



VICTORIA THE QUEEN. 



All hail to the queen of the fair and the brave ! 

Let the bold song of joy reach the skies ! 
Bright, bright o'er the foam of her own subject wave 

See the star of Victoria arise ! 
Young queen of the ocean, prophetic our fire 

To hail thee the greatest we've seen, 
Hark ! the thundering strain of the old sea-god's quire 

To welcome Victoria the queen ! 

May years full of honor and loyalty's love 

Be thine in thy place of renown ; 
To say that we honor thee, means not enough : 

For Britons all honor the crown. 
But the crown that encircles young beauty's fair brow, 

With fonder devotion is seen, 
And chivalry sheds its romance o'er the vow 

We pledge to Victoria the queen ! 



lOS LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Long, long, royal maid, may the olive entwine 
With the laurels that circle thy crown ; 

But if war should arouse the old LioN again, 
'Twill be to increase thy renown : 

To battle while rushing, each heart would beat high 
To triumph, as wont we have been. 

Propitious to conquest our bold battle-cry, 
" Victoria for England's fair queen !" 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 109 



SONG OF THE ITALIAN TROUBADOUR, 



A TROUBADOUR gay from the Southland came forth, 
And knelt to a golden-hair'd maid of the North, 
" Farewell to the Southland, for ever," said he, 
" I regret not my country while list'ning to thee ; 
For thy voice like an echo from Fairyland seems, 
A voice made to waken a bard from his dreams ; — 
That might blend with his visions in regions of bliss, 
And make him forget that he waken'd in this ; 
Then farewell to the Southland, the Northland for me, 
'Tis my country, wherever I'm list'ning to thee ! 

" And as I look up in thy beautiful eyes, 
How can I but think of my own sunny skies ? 
While thy bright golden ringlets, in love-mazing twine, 
Outrival the tendrils that curl round the vine ! 
Then thy form, in its exquisite lightness, recalls 
The statues I've left in lair Italy's halls ; 
And can I regret them, while looking on thee ? 
No ! no ! thou art more than my country to me ! 
Then farewell to the Southland, the Northland for me, 
'Tis my country wherever I'm looking on thee !" 



HO LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN LEAF. 



Down by the river's bank I stray'd 

Upon an autumn day ; 
Beside the fading forest there, 

I saw a child at play. 
She play'd among the yellow leaves — 

The leaves that once were green, 
And flung upon the passing stream 

Vv hat once had blooming been : 
Oh ! deeply did it touch my heart 

To see that child at play ; 
It was the sweet unconscious sport 

Of childhood with decay. 

Fair child, if by this stream you stray, 

When after years go by. 
The scene that makes thy childhood's sport. 

May wake thy age's sigh : 
When fast you see around you fall 

The summer's leafy pride. 
And mark the river hurrying on 

Its ne'er returning tide ; 
Then may you feel in pensive mood 

That life's a summer dream ; 
And man, at last, forgotten falls— 

A leaf upon the stream. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. Ill 



FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE, 



Our Father land I and would'st thou know 

Why we should call it Father land ? 
It is, that Adam here below, 

Was made of earth by Nature's hand ; 
And he, our father, made of earth. 

Hath peopled earth on ev'ry hand, 
And we, in memory of his birth. 

Do call our country, "Father land." 

At first, in Eden's bowers they say. 

No sound of speech had Adam caught, 
But whistled like a bird all day — 

And may be, 'twas for want of thought : 
But Nature, with resistless laws, 

Made Adam soon surpass the birds, 
She gave him lovely Eve — because 

If he'd a wife — they must have words. 



112 LEGENDARY BALLAD3 AND 

And so, the Native Land I hold, 

By male descent is proudly mine ; 
The Language, as the talc hath told, 

Was given in the female line. 
And thus, we see, on either hand. 

We name our blessings whence they've sprung. 
We call our country Father land, 

We call our language Mother tongue. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 113 



MY MOUNTAIN HOME 



My mountain home ! My mountain home ! 

Dear are thy hills to me ! 
Where first my childhood lov'd to roam — 

Wild, as the summer bee : 
The summer bee may gather sweet 

From flovv'rs in sunny prime ; 
And mem'ry brings, with wing as fleet, 

Sweet thoughts of earlj^ time : 
Still fancy bears me to the hills, 

Where childhood lov'd to roam — 
I hear — I see your sparkling rills, 

My own, my mountain home ! 

I've seen their noble forests wide, 

I've seen their smiling vale ; 
Where proudly rolls the silver tide 

That bears their glorious sail : — 
But these are of the earth below ; 

Our home is in the sky ! 
The eagle's flight is not more bright 

Than paths that we may try ! 
While all around sweet echoes ring. 

Beneath heaven's azure dome ; — 
Then, well the mountaineer may sing, 

" My own, my mountain home !" 



7T4- LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAY. 



There is a beautiful saying amongst the Irish peasantry to inspire hope under adverse 
circumstances. — " Remember," they say, " that the darkest hour of all, is the hour before 
day." 



Bereft of his love, and bereaved of his fame, 

A knight to tlie cell of the old hermit came ; 
'' My foes they have slander'd and forced me to fly, 

Oh, tell me, good father, what's left but to die ?" 
" Despair not, my son ; — thou'lt be righted ere long — 

For Heaven is above us to right all the wrong; ! 

Remember the words the old hermit doth say, — 
* 'Tis always the darkest, the hour before day !' 

" Then back to the tourney and back to the court, 
And join thee, the bravest, in chivalry's sport ; 
Thy foes will be there — and thy lady-love too, 
And show ioth, thou'rt a knight that is gallant and true !" 
He rode in the lists — all his foes he o'erthrew. 
And a sweet glance he caught from a soft eye of blue. 
And he thought of the words the old hermit did say. 
For her glance was as bright as the dawning of day. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 115 



The feast it was late in the castle that night, 

And the banquet was beaming with beauty and light ; 

But brightest of all is the lady who glides 

To the porch where a knight with a fleet courser bides. 

She paused 'neath the arch, at the fierce ban dog's bark, 

She trembled to look on the night — 'twas so dark ; 

But her lover, he whisper'd — and thus did he say, 

" Sweet love, it is darkest, the hour before day." 



116 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



'TWAS THE DAY OF THE FEAST, 



When the annual trilmte of the flag of Waterloo to the crown of England, was made to 
William the Fourth, a few hours before his Majesty's lamented death, on receiving the 
banner, the king pressed it to his heart, saying, "It was a glorious day for England ;" and 
expressed a wish he might survive the day, that the Duke of Wellington's commemoration 
fete of the Victory of Waterloo might take place. A dying monarch receiving the banner, 
commemorative of a national conquest, and wishing, at the same time, that his death 
might not disturb the triumphal banquet, is at once so heroic and poetic, that it naturally 
suggests a poem. 



'Twjis the day of the feast in the chieftain's hall, 
'Twas the day he had seen the foeman fall, 
'Twas the day that his country's valor stood 
'Gainst steel and fire, and the tide of blood. 
And the day was mark'd by his country well — 
For they gave him broad valleys, the hill and the dell. 
And they ask'd, as a tribute, the hero should bring 
The flag of the foe to the foot of the king. 

'Twas the day of tlie feast in the chieftain's hall. 
And the banner was brought at the chieftain's call ; 
And he went in his glory the tribute to bring, 
And lay at the foot of the brave old king : 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 117 

But the hall of the king was in silence and grief, 
And smiles, as of old, did not greet the chief; 
For he came on the angel of victory's wing, 
While the an2;el of death was awaitina; the king. 

The chieftain he knelt by the couch of the king ; 
"I know," said the monarch, " the tribute you bring, 

Give me the banner, ere life depart ;" 

-And he press'd the flag to his fainting heart. 
"It is joy, e'en in death," cried the monarch, " to say, 

That my country hath known such a glorious day ! 

Heaven grant I may live till the midnight's fall. 

That my chieftain may feast in his warrior hall !" 



118 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



SECRETS WERE NOT MEANT FOR THREE, 



Come with me where violets lie 

Like thine eye — hidden deep, 
When their lurking glances blue 

Thro' long lashes peep ; 
There, amid the perfume sweet, 

Wafted on the balmy breeze, 
Shelter'd by the secret shade 

Beneath the whisp'ring trees, 
Whisp'ring there would I be too — 
I've a secret, meant for you, 
Sweeter than the wild bee's hum — 

Will you come ? 

Come not when the day is bright. 

But at night, when the moon 
Lights the grove where nightingales 

Sing the lover's tune : — 
But sweeter than the silver song 

That fair Philomel doth sing — 
Sweeter than the fragrance fresh 

The flowers round us fling — 
Sweeter than the poet's dream 
By Castalia's gifted stream, 
Is the tale I'll tell to thee — 
Come with me ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 119 



MY MOTHER DEAR, 



There was a place in childhood that I remember well, 
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell, 
And gentle words and fond embrace were giv'n with joy to me, 
When I was in that happy place, — upon my mother's knee. 

When fairy tales were ended, " Good-night," she softly said, 
And kiss'd, and laid me down to sleep, within my tiny bed ; 
And holy words she taught me there — methinks I yet can see 
Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my mother's knee. 

In the sickness of my childhood ; the perils of my prime : 
The sorrows of my riper years ; the cares of ev'ry time ; 
When doubt and danger weighed me down — then pleading all for 

me. 
It was a fervent pray'r to Heaven that bent my mother's knee. 



1-20 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE MEETING OF FOES AND THE MEETING 
OF FRIENDS. 



Fill the cup ! fill it high ! Let us drink to the might 
Of the manhood that joyously rushes to fight ; 
And, true to the death, all unflinching will stand. 
For our home, and our hearth, and our own native land ! 
'Tis the bright sun of June, that is gilding the crest 
Of the warriors that fight for their isles of the West ; 
The breeze that at morning but plays with the plume, 
At evening may wave the red grass o'er the tomb ; 
The corn that has ripen'd in summer's soft breath, 
In an hour may be reap'd in the harvest of death : 
Then drink to their glory — the glory of those 
Who triumph'd or fell in that meeting of foes. 

But fill the cup higher to drink to the friends 

Bound fast in affection that life only ends ; 

Whose hearths, when defended from foes that have dared, 

Are prized all the more when with friends they are shared ! 

Far better the wine-cup with ruby may flow, 

To the health of a friend than the fall of a foe ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 121 



Tho' bright are the laurels that glory may twine, 
Far softer the shade of the ivy and vine : — 
Then fill the cup higher ! The battle is won — 
Our perils are over — our feast has begun ! — 
On the meeting of foemen, pale sorrow attends : — 
Rosy joy crowns our meeting — the meetmg of friends ! 
7 



122 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



MOLLY BAWN. 



O Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, 

All lonely waiting here for you ? 
The stars above are brightly shining, 

Because — they've nothing else to do. 
The flowers, late, were open keeping, 

To try a rival blush with you, 
But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping 

With their rosy faces wash'd — with dew. 
O Molly, &c. 



Now, the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, 

And the pretty stars were made to shine, 
And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear, 

And may be you were made for mine ! 
The wicked watch-dog here is snarling — 

He takes me for a thief, you see ; 
Fetith, he knows I'd steal you, Molly darling— 

And then transported I should be. 

O Molly, &c. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 123 



THE BIRTH OF SAINT PATRICK. 



On the eighth day of March it was, some people say, 
That Saint Patrick at midnight he first saw the day ; 
While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born. 
And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn ; 
For mistakes will occur in a hurry and shock, 
And some blamed the babby — and some blamed the clock — 
'Till with all their cross questions sure no one could know 
If the child was too fast — or the clock was too slow. 



Now the first faction fight in owld Ireland, they say, 
Was all on account of Saint Patrick's birth-day. 
Some fought for the eighth — for the ninth more would die, 
And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye ! 
At last, both the factions so positive grew. 
That each kept a birth-day, so Pat then had two, 
'Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins, 
Said, " No one could have two birth-days, but a twins." 



124 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Says he, " Boys, don't be fighting for eight or for nine, 
Don't be always dividing — but sometimes combine ; 
Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark, 
So let that be his birth-day" — " Amen," says the clerk. 
"If he wasn't a twins, sure our hist'ry will show — 
That, at least, he's worth any two saints that we know !" 
Then they all got blind drunk — which completed their bliss, 
And we keep up the practice from that day to this. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 125 



THERE'S NO SUCH GIRL AS MINE 



Oh there's no such girl as mine 

In all the wide world round ; 
With her hair of golden twine, 

And her voice of silver sound. 
Her eyes are as black as the sloes, 

And quick is her ear so fine, 
And her breath is as sweet as the rose, 

There's no such girl as mine ! 



Her spirit so sweetly flows. 

Unconscious winner of hearts. 
There's a smile wherever she goes, 

There's a sigh whenever she parts ; 
A blessing she wins from the poor. 

To court her the rich all incline. 
She's welcome at every door — 

O there's no such girl as mine ! 



126 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



She's light to the banquet hall, 

She's balm to the couch of care, 
In sorrow — in mirth — in all — 

She takes her own sweet share. 
Enchanting the many abroad, 

At home doth she brightest shine, 
'Twere endless her worth to laud — 

There's no such girl as mine! 



MISCEJ.LANEOUS SONGS. 127 



WHISPER LOW 



In days of old, when first I told 

A tale so bold, my love, to thee, 
In falt'ring voice I sought thy choice, 

And did rejoice thy blush to see ; 
With downcast eyes, thou heardst my sighs, 

And hope reveal'd her dawn to me. 
As soft and slow, with passion's glow, 

I whisper'd low my love to thee. 



The cannon loud, in deadly breach, 

May thunder on the shrinking foe ; 
'Tis anger is but loud of speech — 

The voice of love is soft and low. 
The tempest's shout, the battle's rout, 

Make havoc wild we weep to see ; 
But summer wind, and friends when kind, 

All whisper low, as I to thee. 



125 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Now gallants gay in pride of youth, 

Say, would you win the fair one's ear. 
Your votive pray'r be short, and sooth, 

And whisper low, and she will hear. 
The matin bell may loudly tell 

The bridal morn, when all may hear; 
But at the time of vesper chime 

Oh whisper low in beauty's ear. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 129 



THE PILGRIM HARPER, 



The night was cold and dreary — no star was in the sky, 
When, travel-tired and weary, the harper raised his cry ; 
He raised his cry without the gate, his night's repose to win. 
And plaintive was the voice that cried, " Ah, won't you let me in ?" 



The portal soon was open'd, for in the land of song. 

The minstrel at the outer gate yet never linger'd long ; 

And inner doors were seldom closed 'gainst wand'rers such as he, 

For locks or hearts to open soon, sweet music is the key. 



But if gates are oped by melody, so grief can close them fast, 
And sorrow o'er that once bright hall its silent spell had cast ; 
All undisturb'd the spider there, his web might safely spin, 

For many a day no festive lay — no harper was lei in. 

7* 



130 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

IV. 

But when this harper enter'd, and said he came from far, 
And bore with him from Palestine the tidings of the war, 
And he could tell of all who fell, or glory there did win, 
The warder knew his noble dame would let that harper in. 



They led him to the bower, the lady knelt in prayer ; 
The harper rais'd a well-known lay upon the turret stair ; 
The door was oped with hasty hand, true love its meed did win. 
For the lady saw her own true knight, when that harper was let 
in! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 131 



GRIEF IS MINE, 



Grief is mine, since thou art gone, 

Thou, my love, my secret one, 

I hide my thoughts, and weep alone. 

That none may hear or see ; 
But grief, tho' silent, tells its tale : 
They watch my cheek, and see 'tis pale : 
But the cheek may fade, and the heart ne'er fail- 

I will still be true to thee. 

Sual, sual, a-run.* 



Oh ! give me wings, sweet bird of air. 

Soaring aloft in the bright clouds there ; 

There is hope in Heaven — on the earth is despair — 

Oh ! that a bird I were ! 
'Tis then I would seek my place of rest, 
And fly unto my loved one's breast, 
Within his heart to make my nest, 

And dwell for ever there. 

Sual, sual, a-run. 

Pronounced Shule aroon — signifying — " Come, my secret one.' 



X33 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



GENTLE LADY, HEAR MY VOW, 



Gentle lady, hear my vow, 

Hear my vow, nor bid me part 
With the charms I gaze on now. 

Love might tame the wildest heart. 
Doubt not I will true remain, 

Doubt not what those eyes inspire, 
Vulcan forged the strongest chain 

When Venus gave the fire ! 

Blame me not if vows I break, 

Vows that I have made before ; 
Thine the power my fakh to shake, 

Yet 1o make me still adoi'e ! 
As mountain streams their brightness pour, 

In tribute to the sovereign sea ; 
So, the loves I've known before, 

All are lost in thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 133 



THE WEDDING OF THE ADRIATIC 



Mark ! Lady, mark, 
Yon gilded bark 

Beareth a duke in pride ; 
His cosily ring. 
Bravely to fling, 

And make the sea his bride. 
Proud of' her lord 
All ocean smiles. 
And with soft waves 
Kisses our isles, 

While her own mirror gorgeously 
Doubles the pomp she loves to see. 



Vain is thy pride, 
Seeking a bride, 

In the cold, faithless sea. 
Why wouldst thou throw 
Rich gems below, 

She will be false to thee. 



134 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

Dearer I hold 

Plain rings of gold 

Binding two hearts 
Ne'er growing cold. 

Proud lord, if thou hast rule o'er the sea, 

Vast as the ocean true love can be. 

Vain is thy pride, 

Seeking a bride 

In the cold faithless sea. 

Mine be the ring 

True love can bring — 
Such be the rin^ for thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 135 



GONDOLIER, ROW! 



Gondolier, row ! row ! 

How swift the flight 

Of time to-night, 
But the gondolier so slow- 
Gondolier, row ! row ! 

The night is dark — 

So speed thy bark 
To the balcony we know. 

II. 

Gondolier, row ! row ! 

One star is bright 

With trembling light — 
And the light of love is so, 
Gcndolier, row ! row ! 

The watery way 

Will not betray 
The path to where we go. 



136 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



CUPID'S WING. 



The dart of Love was feathered first 

From Folly's wing, they say, 
Until he tried his shaft to shoot 

In Beauty's heart one day ; 
He miss'd the maid so oft, 'tis said, 

His aim became untrue, 
And Beauty laugh'd as his last shaft 

He from his quiver drew ; 
" In vain," said she, '• you shoot at me. 

You little spiteful thing — 
The feather on your shaft I scorn, 

When pluck'd from Folly's wing." 



But Cupid soon A'esh arrows found. 

And fitted to his string, 
And each new shaft he feather'd from 

His own bright glossy wing ; 
He shot until no plume was left, 

To waft him to the sky. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 137 



And Beauty smiled upon the child, 
When he no more could fly : 
"Now, Cupid, I am thine," she said, 
"Leave off thy archer play, 
For Beauty yields — when she is sure 
Love will not fly away." 



138 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



FORGIVE BUT DON'T FORGET, 



I'm going, Jessie, far from thee, 
To distant lands beyond the sea ; 
I would not, Jessie, leave thee now, 
With anger's cloud upon thy brow. 
Remember that thy mirthful friend 
Might sometimes pique, but ne'er offend ; 
That mirthful friend is sad the while, 
Oh, Jessie, give a parting smile. 



Ah ! why should friendship harshly chide 
Our little faults on either side ? 
From friends we love we bear with those, 
As thorns are pardon'd for the rose : — 
The honey bee, on busy wing. 
Producing sweets — yet bears a sting — 
The purest gold most needs alloy. 
And sorrow is the nurse of joy. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 139 



Then oh ! forgive me, ere I part, 
And if some corner in thy heart 
For absent friend a place might be, 
Ah ! keep that little place for me ! — 
" Forgive— Forget " we're wisely told, 
Is held a maxim good and old, 
But half the maxim's better yet. 
Then, oh, forgive but don't forget! 



J40 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



I CAN NE'ER FORGET THEE.* 



It is the chime ; the hour draws near 

When you and I must sever ; 
Alas, it must be many a year. 

And it may be for ever. 
How long till we shall meet again : 

How short since first I met thee ; 
How brief the bliss — how long the pain- 

For I can ne'er forfjet thee. 



You said my heart was cold and stern ; 

You doubted love when strongest : 
In future years you'll live to learn 

Proud hearts can love the longest. 
Oh ! sometimes think when press'd to hear, 

When flippant tongues beset thee, 
That all must love thee when thou'rt near j 

But one will ne'er forget thee ! 

* This and the following songs are from Handy Andy. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 141 



The changeful sand doth only know 

The shallow tide and latest ; 
The rocks have marked its highest flow, 

The deepest and the greatest ; 
And deeper still the flood-marks grow : — 

So, since the hour I met thee, 
The more the tide of time doth flow, 

The less can I forget thee ! 



142 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE SNOW, 



An old man sadly said, 

Where's the snow 
That fell the year that's fled — 

Where's the snow 
As fruitless were the task 
Of many a joy to ask, 

As the snow ! 



u. 

The hope of airy birth, 

Like the snow, 
Is stained on reaching earth, 

Like the snow : 
While 'tis sparkling in the ray 
'Tis melting fast away, 

Like the snow. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

III. 

A cold deceitful thing 

Is the snow, 
Though it come on dove-like vvino- 

The false snow ! 
'Tis but rain disguis'd appears ; 
And our hopes are frozen tears 

Like the snow. 



143 



144 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST 



When the sun sinks to rest, 
And the star of the west 

Sheds its soft silver light o'er the sea, 
What sweet thoughts arise, 
As the dim twilight dies — 

For then I am thinking of thee ! 

Oh ! then crowding fast 
Come the joys of the past, 

Through the dimness of days long gone by, 
Like the stars peeping out, 
Through the darkness about, 

From the soft silent depth of the sky. 



And thus, as the night 

Grows more lovely and bright. 

With the clust'ring of planet and star, 
So this darkness of mine 
Wins a radiance divine 

From the light that still lingers afar. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 145 

Then welcome the night, 
With its soft holy light ! 

In its silence my heart is more free 
The rude world to forget, * 

Where no pleasure I've met 

Since the hour that I parted f 'om thee. 
8 



146 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE SHOUT OF NED OF THE HILL, 



The hill ! the hill ! with its sparkling rill, 

And its dawning air so light and pure, 
Where the morning's eye scorns the mists that lie 

On the drowsy valley and the moor. 
Here, with the eagle I rise betimes ; 

Here, with the eagle my state I keep ; 
The first we see of the morning sun. 

And his last as he sets o'er the deep ; 
And there, while strife is rife below. 

Here from the tyrant I am free : 
Let the shepherd slaves the valley praise. 

But the hill ! — the hill for me ! 



The baron below in his castle dwells. 
And his garden boasts the costly rose ; 

But mine is the keep of the mountain steep, 

Where the matchless wild flcwer freely blows ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 147 

Let him fold his sheep, and his harvest reap, — 

I look down from my mountain throne ; 
And I choose and pick of the flock and the rick, 

And what is his I can make my own ! 
Let the valley grow in its wealth below. 

And the lord keep his high degree ; 
But higher am I in my liberty — 

The hill !— the hill for me ! 



148 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



SALLY. 



" Sally, Sally, shilly, shally, 

Sally, why not name the day ?" 
" Harry, Harry, I will tarry 

Longer in love's flow'ry way!" 
" Can't you make your mind up, Sally ? 

Why embitter thus my cup ?" 
" Harry, I've so great a mind. 

It takes a long time making up." 

" Sally, Sally, in the valley. 

You have promised many a time, 
On the sunny Sunday morning. 

As we've heard the matin chime ; 
Heark'ning to those sweet bells ringing, 

Calling grateful hearts to pray, 
I have whispered — ' Oh ! how sweetly 

They'll proclaim our wedding day !' " 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 149 

" Harry, Harry, I'll not marry, 

Till I see your eyes don't stray ; 
At Kate Riley, you, so slily. 
Stole a wink the other day." 
" Sure Kate Riley, she's my cousin :" 
" Harry, I've a cousin too ; 
If you like such close relations, 
m have cousins close as you." 

" Sally, Sally, do not rally. 

Do not mock my tender woe ; 
Play me not thus shilly shally, 

Sally, do not tease me so ! 
While you're smiling, hearts beguiling. 

Doing all a woman can ; 
Think — though you're almost an angel, 

I am but a mortal man !" 



150 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THERE IS A GENTLE GLEAM. 



There is a gentle gleam when the dawn is nigh, 
That sheds a tender light o'er the morning sky, 

When we see that light, we know 

That the noontide soon will glow, 

O, such the light I know 
In my true love's eye. 



There is a blushing bud on the spring-tide bough 
That tells of coming fruit — tho' 'tis fruitless now, 

So, the blush I love to trace 

O'er the beauty of that face 

Tells that love will come apace 
As I breathe my vow. 



There are memories of the past which we all love well, 
And the present rings its chime like a silver bell, 

But the future — all unknown, 

Hath a music of its own. 

For the promise of its tone 
Can all else excel ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 151 



THE VOICE WITHIN, 



YoTJ ask the dearest place on earth, 

Whose simple joys can never die ; 
'Tis the holy pale of the happy hearth, 
Where love doth light each beaming eye ! 
With snowy shroud 
Let tempests loud 
Around my old tower raise their din ; — 
What boots the shout 
Of storms without, • 
While voices resound within ? 
O ! dearer sound 
For the tempest round, 
The voices sweet within ! 



II. 

I ask not wealth, I ask not power ; 

But, gracious Heaven, oh, grant to me 
That, when the storms of Fate may lower, 

My heart just like my home may be ! 



152 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

When in the galo 

Poor Hope's white sail 
No haven can for shelter win, 

Fate's darkest skies 

The heart defies 
Whose still small voice is sweet within ! 

Oh heavenly sound ! 

'Mid the tempest round, 

That voice so sweet within ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 153 



ASK ME NOT WHAT I AM THINKING. 



Ask me not what I am thinking, 

Why pale sadness sits on my cheek, 
Not, when the full heart is sinking, 

Is the fit moment to speak ; 
Wait — only wait till to-morrow, 

When morn on my parting shall shine, 
Perchance, in thine own silent sorrow, 

Thou 'It guess at the meaning of mine. 

Haply, at eve, when you wander 

Through the bloom and the sweets of thy bowers, 
Thy thought of the hand will be fonder 

That yesterday gathered thee flowers ; 
And, though as bright ones be braided 

At night in thy rich raven hair. 
The brow with regret will be shaded 

That he who adores is not there. 

And, in the ball's mazy measure. 

Amidst all the homage of smiles, 
Vainly the lurings of pleasure 

Around thee are spreading their wiles ; 
There, 'mong the many — a lone one ; 

Vainly the revel may shine : 
Midst all the mirth — ^thou 'rt mine own one, 

Though I am absent — I 'm thine ! 

8* 



154 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



A LEAF THAT REMINDS OF THEE 



How sweet is the hour we give, 

When fancy may wander free, 
To the friends who in memory live ! — 

For then I remember thee ! 
Then, wing'd, like the dove from the ark. 

My heart, o'er a stormy sea, 
Brings back to my lonely bark 

A leaf that reminds of thee ! 



But still does the sky look dark, 

The wafers still deep and wide ; 
Oh ! when may my lonely bark 

In peace on the shore abide ? 
But through the future far, 

Dark though my course may be, 
Thou art my guiding star ! 

My hear; still turns to thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 155 



When I see tliy friends I smile, 

I sigh when I hear thy name ; 
But they cannot tell the while 

Whence the smile or the sadness came. 
Vainly the world may deem 

The cause of my sighs they know : 
The breeze that stirs the stream 

Knows not the depth below. 



156 , LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



SAY NOT MY HEART IS COLD, 



Say not my heart is cold, 

Because of a silent tongue : 
The lute of faultless mould 

In silence oft hath hung. 
The fountain soonest spent 

Doth babble down the steep : 
But the stream that ever went 

Is silent, strong, and deep. 



The charm of a secret life 

Is given to choicest things : — ■ 
Of flowers, the flagrance rife 

Is wafted on viewless wings ; 
We see not the charmed air 

Bearing some witching sound ; 
And ocean deep is where 

The pearl of price is found. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 157 

III. 

Where are the stars by day ? 

They burn, though all unseen ; 
And love of purest ray 

Is like the stars, I ween : 
Unmark'd is the gentle light 

When the sunshine of joy appears, 
But ever, in sorrow's night, 

'Twill glitter upon thy tears ! 



15S LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



WIDOW MACHREE. 



Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown, 

Och hone ! widow machree ; 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown, 

Och hone ! wddow machree. 
How altered your air, 
With that close cap you wear — 
'Tis destroying your hair 

Which should be flowing free : 
Be no longer a churl 
Of its black silken curl, 

Och hone ! widow machree ! 



Widow machree, now the summer is come, 

Och hone ! widow machree ; 
When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum ? 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
See the birds go in pairs. 
And the rabbits and hares — 
Why even the bears 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 159 



Now in couples agree ; 
And the mute little fish, 
Though they can't spake, they wish, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



Widow machree, and when winter comes in, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
Sure the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs, 
And the kettle sings songs 

Full of family glee ; 
While alone with your cup. 
Like a hermit you sup, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



IV. 

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, 

Och hone ! widow machree, 
^ut you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be fled, 
Could you sleep in your bed, 

Without thinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite. 
That would wake you each night, 

Crying, " Och hone ! widow machree.'* 



160 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Then take my advice, darling widow machree, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
And with my advice, faith I wish you'd take me, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
You'd have me to desire 
Then to stir up the fire ; 
And sure Hope is no liar 

In whispering to me. 
That the ghosts would depart. 
When you'd me near your heart, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 161 



THE QUAKER'S MEETING. 



A TRAVELLER Wended the wilds among, 

With a purse of gold and a silver tongue ; 

His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes, 

For he hated high colors — except on his nose, 

And he met with a lady, the story goes. 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



The damsel she cast him a merry blink, 

And the traveller nothing was loth, I think ; 

Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath. 

And the quaker he grinned, for he'd very good teeth, 

And he ask'd, " Art thou going to ride on the heath ?" 

Heigho ! yea thee and Tiay thee. 

III. 

" I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said the maid, 

" As to ride this heath over I'm sadly afraid ; 
For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound, 
And I wouldn't** for anything' i should be found. 
For — between you and me — I have five hundred pound." 
Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



162 LEGENDARY BALLAdS AND 



"If that is thee'^ own, dear," the quaker he said, 
" I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed ; 

And I hav6 another five hundred just now, 

In the padding that's under my saddle-bow, 

And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow !" 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



The maiden she smil'd, and her rein she drew, 
" Your offer I'll take — though I'll not take you j" 

A pistol she held at the quaker's head — 
" Now give me your gold — or I'll give you my lead — 

'Tis under the saddle, I think you said." 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

VI. 

The damsel she ripped up the saddle-bow. 
And the quaker was never a quaker till now ; 
And he saw by the fair one he wish'd for a bride 
His purse borne away with a swaggering stride. 
And the eye that look'd tender, now only defied. 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

VII. 

" The spirit doth move me, friend Broad-brim," quoth she, 

" To take all this filthy temptation from thee. 
For Mammon deceiveth — and beauty is fleeting ; 
Accept from thy maai-d'n a right loving greeting, 
For much doth she profit by this quaker's meeting." 

Heigho ! yea Aee and nay thee. 

* The inferior class of quakers make thee serve not only its own gram- 
matical use, but also do the duty of thy and thine. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 163 



" And hark ! jolly quaker, so rosy and sly, 
Have righteousness more than a wench in thine eye, 
Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath, 
Remember the one that you met on the heath, 
Her name's Jimmy Barlow — I tell to your teeth !" 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 

IX. 

" Friend James," quoth the quaker, " pray listen to me, 
For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye see ; 
The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend, 
But my master's — and truly on thee I depend 
To make it appear I my trust did defend." 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



*' So fire a few shots through my clothes, here and there, 
To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate affair." 
So Jim he popped first through the skirt of his coat. 
And then through his collar — quite close to his throat ; 

" Now once through my broad brim," quoth Ephrain), " I vote." 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



" I have but a brace," said bold Jim, " and they're spent. 
And I won't load again for a make-believe rent." — 

" Then " — said Ephraim — producing his pistols — "just give 
My five hundred pounds back — or as sure as you live 
I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve." 

Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



164 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

XII. 

Jim Barlow was diddled — and though he was game 
He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim, 
That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers, 
And when the whole story got into the papers, 
They said that " the thieves were no match for the quakers." 
Heigho ! yea thee and nay thee. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 16£ 



THE DOVE SONG. 



Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Thus did I hear the turtle dove, 
Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Murmuring forth her love ; 
And as she flew from tree to tree, 
How^ melting seemed the notes to me- 

Coo! Coo! Coo! 

So like the voice of lovers, 

'Twas passing sweet to hear. 
The birds within the covers, 

In the spring-time of the year. 

11. 

Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Thus the song's returned again — 
Coo! Coo! Coo! 

Through the shady glen j 
But there I wandered lone and sad, 

While every bird around was glad. 



166 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



Coo! Coo! Coo! 
Thus so fondly murmured they, 

Coo! Coo! Coo! 
While my love was away. 
And yet the song to lovers, 

Though sad, is sweet to hear, 
From birds within the covers, 
In the spring-time of the year. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 167 



LADY MINE! 



Lady mine ! lady mine ! 
Take the rosy wreath I twine ; 
All its sweets are less than thine, 

Lady, lady mine ! 
The blush that on thy cheek is found 
Bloometh fresh the whole year round ; 
Thy sweet breath as sweet gives sound, 

Lady, lady mine ! 



Lady mine ! lady mine ! 

How I love the graceful vine. 

Whose tendrils mock thy ringlets' twine, 

Lady, lady mine ! 
How I love that gen'rous tree. 
Whose ripe clusters promise me 
Bumpers bright, — to pledge to thee, 

Lady, lady mine ! 



168 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

III. 

Lady mine ! lady mine ! 

Like the stars that nightly shine, 

Thy sweet eyes shed light divine, 

Lady, lady mine ! 
And as sages wise, of old. 
From the stars could fate unfold, 
Th}'' bright eyes my fortune told. 

Lady, lady mine ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 169 



THE BOWLD SOJER BOY 



Oh there's not a trade that's going, 

Worth showing, 

Or knowing. 

Like that from glory growing, 

For a bowld sojer boy ; 
Where right or left we go, 
Sure you know, 
Friend or foe 
Will have the hand or toe, 

From a bowld sojer boy ! 
There's not a town we march thro', 
But the ladies, looking arch thro' 
The window-panes, will search thro' 

The ranks to find their joy j 
While up the street. 
Each girl you meet, 
With look so sly. 
Will cry, 
" My eye ! 
Oh, isn'j he a darhng, the bowld sojer boy !" 
9 



170 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



But when we get the route, 

How they pout 

And they shout, 

While to the right about 

Goes the bowld sojer boy. 
Oh, 'tis then that ladies fair 
In despair 
Tear their hair. 
But " the divil-a-one I care," 

Says the bowld sojer boy ! 
For the world is all before us. 
Where the landladies adore us, 
And ne'er refuse to score us. 

But chalk us up with joy : 
We taste her tap. 
We tear her cap — 
" Oh, that's the chap 
For me !" 
Says she ; 
" Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy !" 



" Then come along with me, 
Gramachree, 
And you'll see. 
How happy you will be 

With your bowld sojer hoy ; 
Faith! if you're up to fun. 
With me run ; 
'Twill be done 
In the snapping of a gun," 

Says the bowld sojer boy j 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 171 

" And 'tis then that, without scandal, 
Myself will proudly dandle 
The little farthing candle 

Of our mutual flame, my joy ! 
May his light shine, 
As bright as mine, 
Till in the line 
He'll blaze. 
And raise 
The glory of his corps, like a bowld sojer boy !" 



172 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 



THE SUNSHINE IN YOU 



It is sweet when we look round the wide world'y waste, 

To know that the desert bestows 
The palms where the weary heart may rest, 
The spring that in purity flows. 

And where have I found 

In this wilderness round 
That spring and that shelter so true ; 

Unfailing in need, 

And my own, indeed ? — 
Oh ! dearest, I've found it in you ! 



And, oh when the cloud of some darkening hour 

O'ershadows the soul with its gloom. 
Then where is the light of the vestal pow'r. 
The lamp of pale Hope to illume ? 

Oh ! the light ever lies 

In those bright fond eyes, 
Where Heaven has impress'd its own blue, 

As a seal from the skies ; 

And my heart relies 
On that gift of its sunshine in you ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 173 



MACARTHY'S GRAVE 



The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair, 
The stag had left his dewy lair ; 
To cheering horn and baying tongue, 
Killarney's echoes sweetly rung. 
With sweeping oar and bending mast, 
The eager chase was following fast ; 
When one light skiff a maiden steer'd 
Beneath the deep wave disappear'd : 
While shouts of terror wildly ring, 
A boatman brave, with gallant spring 
And dauntless arm, the lady bore — 
But he who saved — was seen no more ! 



Where weeping birches wildly wave. 
There boatmen show their brother's grave ; 
And while they tell the name he bore, 
Suspended hangs the lifted oar : 



174 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 

The silent drops they idly shed, 
Seem like tears to gallant Ned ; 
And while gently gliding by, 
The tale is told with moistened eye. 
No ripple on the slumb'ring lake 
Unhallowed oar doth ever nnake 
All undisturb'd, the placid wave 
Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave. 



SONGS 



IRISH EVENINGS. 



SONGS OF THE IRISH EVENINGS. 



THE TWO BIRDS. 



A BRIGHT bird lived in a golden cage, 
So gently tended by groom and page, 
And a wild bird came, her pomp to see, 
And said, " I wish I could live like thee ; 

For thou canst sing. 

And prune thy wing, • 

While dainty fare, 

Thy slaves prepare." 
The wild bird came, her pomp to see. 
And said, " I wish I could live like thee !" 



Then from the cage came a plaintive voice, 

Which bade the wild bird to rejoice, 

" For I'd give my golden cage," said she, 

" For thy humble perch on the wild-wood tree ; 
9* 



180 SONGS OF THE 



For in the hour of sorrow, 

As in the darkness drear, 
To Heaven entrust the morrow, 

For the angels then are near. 
Oh watch you well by daylight. 

By daylight may you fear, 
But keep no watch in darkness — 

The angels then are near. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 183 



For the lady would sit foiminst* me, 
On a cushion, made with taste, 
While Peggy would be beside me, 
With my arm around her waist, 

As we drove in the low-backed car 
To be married by Father Maher. 
Oh my heart would beat high. 
At her. glance and her sigh, 

Tho' it beat in a low-backed car. 

* Before. 



184" SONGS OF THE 



PADDY'S PASTORAL RHAPSODY 



When Molly, th' other day, sir, 
Was makin' of the hay, sir, 
I ask'd her for to be my bride. 
And Molly she began to chide ; 
Says she, " you are too young, dear Pat," 
Says I, " my jew'l, I'll mend o' that." 
" You are too poor," says she beside. 
And to convince her then I tried, 
That wealth is an invintion 
Which the wise should never mintion, 
And that flesh is grass, and flowers will fade. 
And it's better be wed than die an owld maid. 



The purty little sparrows 
Have neither ploughs nor harrows, 
Yet they live at aise and are contint, 
Bekase, you see, they pay no rint. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 185 



They have no care nor flustherin', 
About diggin' or mdustherin' , 
No foolish pride their comfort hurts — ' 
For they eat the flax and wear no shirts — ■ 
For wealth is an invintion, &c., &c. 

til. 

Sure Nature clothes the hills, dear, 
Without any tailors' bills, dear, 
And the bees they sip their sweets, my sowl, 
Though they never had a sugar bowl, 
The dew it feeds the rose of June — 
But 'tis not from a silver spoon : 
Then let us patthern take from those, 
The birds, and bees, and lovely rose, 
For wealth is an invintion, &c., &c. 

IV. 

Here's a cup to you, my darlin', 
Tho' I'm not worth a farthin', 
I'll pledge my coat to drink your health, 
And then I'll envy no man's wealth ; 
For when I'm drunk I think I'm rich, 
I've a feather bed in every ditch, 
I dhrame o' you, my heart's delight. 
And how could I pass a pleasanter night ? 
For wealth is an invintion, 6sc., &c. 



186 SONGS OF THE 



WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE ? 



" What will you do, love, when I am going 
With white sail flowing, 

The seas beyond — 
What will you do, love, when waves divide us 
And friends may chide us 

For being fond ?" 
" Tho' waves divide us — and friends be chiding, 
In faith abiding, 

I'll still be true ! 
And I'll pray for thee on the stormy ocean, 
In deep devotion — 

That's what I'll do !" 



" What would you do, love, if distant tidings 
Thy fond confidings 

Should undermine ? — 
And I, abiding 'neath sultry skies, 
Should think other eyes 

Were as bright as thine?" — 



IRISH EVENINGS. 187 



" Oh, name it not ! — Tho' guilt and shame 
Were on thy name 

I'd still be true : 
But that heart of thine — should another share it — 
I could not bear it ! 

What would I do ?" 

iir. 

" What would you do, love, when home returning 
With hopes high burning, 

With wealth for you. 
If my bark, which bounded o'er foreign foam 
Should be lost near home — 

All ! what would you do ?" — 
" So thou wert spared — I'd bless the morrow, 
In want and sorrow, 

That left me you ; 
And I'd welcome thee from the wasting billow, 
This heart thy pillow — 

That's what I'd do !" 



188 SONGS OF THE 



THE BEGGAR 



'TwAS sunset when 

Adown the glen, 
A beggar came with glee ; 

His eye was bright, 

His heart was light. 
His step was bold and free, 
And he danced a merry measure 

To his rollick roundelay ; 
" Oh, a beggar's life is pleasure. 

For he works nor night nor day !" 

II. 

" Let fathers toil. 

Let mothers moil. 
And daughters milk the kine ; 

What Lord can boast. 

So brave a host 
Of servants as are mine ? 
The world is my wide mansion, 

Mankind my servants be, 
And many a lady in the land 

Would live and beg with me." 



IRISH EVENINGS. 189 



The beggar laugh'd, 

The beggar quafF'd, 
While many a jest he told. 

The miller swore 

He ne'er before, 
Such beggar did behold. 
The mother filled his can, 

And the daughter smiled as he 
Did toast her as the loveliest lass 

That eyes did ever se. 



Now all is still, 

Within the mill, 
Even the goodwife's tongue. 

All sleep but two — 

You may guess who, 
Or vainly I have sung. 
The beggar cast his rags, 

Her lover Mary spied. 
The miller lost a daughter. 

And the hunter gained a bride ! 



190 SONGS OF THE 



THE ROAD OF LIFE : 

OE, SONG OF THE IRISH POST-BOY. 



Oh ! youth, happy youth ! what a blessing ! 

Jn thy freshness of dawn and of dew ; 
When hope, the young heart is caressing, 

And our griefs are but light and but few : 
Yet in life, as it swiftly flies o'er us, 

Some musing for sadness we find ; 
In youth — we've our troubles before us, 

In age — we leave pleasure behind. 



Aye — Trouble's the post-boy that drives us 

Up hill, till we get to the top ; 
While Joy's an old servant behind us 

We call on for ever to stop ; 
" Oh, put on the drag, Joy, ray jewel, 

As long as the sunset still glows ; 
Before it is dark 'twould be cruel, 

To haste to the hill-foot's repose. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 191 



But there stands an inn we must stop at, 

An extinguisher swings for the sign ; 
That house is but cold and but narrow, 

But the prospect beyond it's divine ! 
And there — whence there's never returning, 

When we travel — as travel we must ; 
May the gates be all free for our journey ! 

And the tears of our friends lay the dust ! 



192 SONGS OF THE 



KITTY CREAGH 



" Oh ! tell me now where are you going, 

Sweet Kitty Creagh ?" 
" To the glen where the hazels are growing, 

I'm taking my way." 
" The nuts are not ripe yet, sweet Kitty, 

As yet we're but making the hay, 
An autumn excuse 
Is in summer no use, 

Sweet Kitty Creagh." 



" What is it to you where I'm going, 

Misther Maguire ? 
The twigs in the hazel glen growing 

Make a good fire," 
" The turf in the bog's nearer, Kitty, 

And fitter for firing, they say ; 
Don't think me a goose. 
Faith I twig your excuse, 

Sly Kitty Creagh." 



IRISH EVENINGS. 193 



" We're saving our turf for the winther, 

Misther Maguire ; 
And your gibes and your jokes shall not hindher 

What I require." 
" Ah, I know why j^ou're going there, Kitty, 

Not jire^ but a ^ame you should say 
You seek in the shade 
Of the hazel wood glade — 

Sly Kitty Creagh !" 



" There's a stream through that hazel wood flowing, 

Sweet Kitty Creagh ; 
Where J see, with his fishing rod going, 

Phelim O'Shea; 
'Tis not for the nuts you are seeking, 

Nor gath'ring of fuel in May, 
And 'tis not catching trout 
That young Phelim's about — 

Sweet Kitty Creagh !" 

10 



194 SONGS OF THE 



DERMOT O'DOWD. 



When Dermot O'Dowd coorted Molly M'Can, 

They were sweet as the honey and soft as the down, 
But when they were wed they began to find out 

That Dermot could storm and that Molly could frown ; 
They would neither give in — so the neighbors gave out — 

Both were hot, till a coldness oame over the two, 
And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther, 
Stamp holes in the flure, and cry out " wirrasthru ! 
Oh murther ! I'm married, 
I wish I had tarried ; 
I'm sleepless and speechless — no word can I say, 
My bed is no use, 
I'll give back to the goose 
The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day." 

" Ah !" says Molly, " you once used to call me a bird." 

" Faix, you're ready enough still to fly out," says he. 
" You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies, 

And my lips like the rose — now no longer like me." 
Says Dermot, " your eyes are as bright as the morn, 

But your brow is as black as a big thunder cloud, 
If your lip is a rose — sure yoiir tongue is a thorn 

That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot O'Dowd." 



IRISH EVENINGS. 195 



Says Molly, " you once said my voice was a thrush, 

But now it's a rusty ould hinge with a creak;" 
Says Dermot, " you call'd me a duck when I coorted, 

But now I'm a goose every day in the week. 
But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock, 

From the first 'twas ordained so by Nature, I fear, 
Ould Adam himself was the first o' the flock, 

And Eve, with her apple sauce, cooked him, my dear." 



196 SONGS OF THE 



THE ROYAL DREAM. 



Upon a couch of royal state A LADY fair reposed, 

And wrapt in pleasing visions bright her soft ■ blue eye was 

closed, 
And, in that dream so beautiful, a mountain sprite was seen, 
Whose brow was circled with a wreath of triple leaves so green. 
Then sang the sprite, " Oh ! LADY bright ! why seek a foreign 

shore. 
And leave, unseen, thine island green, where loyal hearts 

adore ? 
Oh ! you never met such welcome yet — ne'er saw such sunny 

smile, 
As will greet thee on thy landing in thine own Emerald Isle." 



And as THE LADY dreamed, she smiled, and, waking, spoke 

her mind — 
*' Prepare my bravest ships and spread their white wings to the 

wind, 
And bear me to the verdant isle the spirit showed to me, 
The fairest spot I yet have seen within my subject sea." 



IRISH EVENINGS. 197 



The fav'ring gale soon filled the sail — the brave ships make the 

shore — 
A fairy bark then seeks the strand, amid the cannons' roar ; 
And her banner glitter'd in the sun — for Heaven itself did 

smile, 
On the landing of THE LADY, in her own Emerald Isle. 

III. 

But THE LADY hears the million-shout above the cannons' 

roar, 
That thunder-burst of loyal hearts along the echoing shore ! 
And her noble heart it echoed too — and thus did echo say, 
" I ne'er so proudly felt my power as on this glorious day !" 
It was a glorious day indeed — fond bosoms beating high — 
A blessing hung on ev'ry tongue — devotion lit each eye. 
Oh ! brightest day of all her sway, the day she won the smile 
That did greet THE LADY, landing in her own Emerald Isle ! 



193 SONGS OF THE 



THE VENETIAN LOVE CHASE. 



A SEA-NYMPH, fond and fair, 

She loved a gondolier. 

Who loved her songs to hear 
Upon the stilly air, 
Over the deep lagune. 
Where the midnight moon, 
Her silver path display'd ; 
A path for lovers made : 

But, ah ! that light. 

So soft and bright. 
Is sometimes crossed by shade. 

But, lovers — do not fear, 

Tho' the moon forsake the night, 
For heaven hath other light, 

For a faithful gondolier. 



And, night by night, more far. 
The gondolier would stray ; 
Allured by that soft lay, 

And lit by one bright star. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 199 



Bolder and bolder, he, 
Over the sounding sea, 
Pursued that witching strain ; 
But, ah ! the lover's pain, 

When to the shore, 

With weary oar, 
He sadly turned again. 

But still he kept good cheer, 
" For so fair a prize," said he, 
" I still must bolder be !" 

Oh ! fearless gondolier. 

in. 

At length so bold he grew, 

That, when the storm would rise, 
And rayless were the skies. 
Across the deep he flew. 

Seeking that syren sound — 
When tempests raged around. 
He deadly dangers sought ; 
For, life he held at naught, 
Unless the charm, 
That nerv'd his arm, 
Love's sweet rewardings brought. 
Oh, timid lovers, hear, 

How the blue-eyed nymph, at last. 
For his dangers, bravely past, 
Bless'd her gallant gondolier. 



200 SONGS OF THE 



THE DREAMER 



" Dreaming — dreaming — dreaming ! — 

Dreamer, what dreamest thou ?" 
" I dream of a lovely valley, 

I dream of a mountain brow, 
I dream of a mouldering ruin, 

I dream of a turret tall. 
And I dream of the verdant ivy 
That clings to that castle wall : 
And I think as I gaze 
Through fancy's haze. 

Of a fairy hand, so fair, 
That pluck'd the bright leaf 
In an hour — too brief. 

And wreathed it in her dark hair.'* 



" Dreaming — dreaming — dreaming ! — 
Dreamer, awake, and rise ! 
For sparkling things are round thee 
To win for thine own bright prize. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 201 



Of the past there is no returning, 

The future uncertain gleams, 
Be thine, then, the joys of the present, 
Away with thy bardic dreams !" 
" No — the dream is more sweet 
Of those hours — too fleet, 

When that fairy hand so fair, 
Did pluck the bright flow'r 
From her own sweet bow'r. 

To wreathe in the raven hair." 



202 SONGS OF THE 



ST. KEVIN: A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH. 



At Glendalough lived a young saint, 

In odor of sanctity dwelling, 
An old-fashion'd odor, which now 

We seldom or never are smelling; 
A book or a hook were to him 

The utmost extent of his wishes ; 
Now, a snatch at the " lives of the saints," 

Then, a catch at the lives of the fishes. 



There was a young woman one day, 

Stravagin'* edong by the lake, sir. 
She looked hard at St. Kevin, they say, 

But St. Kevin no notice did take, sir. 
When she found looking hard wouldn't do. 

She look'd soft — in the old sheep's-eye fashion ; 
But, with all her sheep's eyes, she could not 

In St. Kevin see signs of soft passion. 
* Sauntering 



IRISH EVENINGS. 203 



"You're a great hand at fishing," says Kate, 

" 'Tis yourself that knows how, faith, to hook them, 
But, wiien you have caught them, agra, 

Don't you want a young woman to cook them ?" 
Says the saint, " I am ' sayrious inclined,^ 
I intend taking orders for life, dear." 
" Only marry," says Kate, " and you'll find 

You'll get orders enough from your wife, dear." 

IV. 

" You shall never be flesh of my flesh," 

Says the saint, with an anchorite groan, sir; 
"I see that, myself," answer'd Kate, 

" I can only be ' bone of your bone,' sir. 
And even your bones are so scarce," 

Said Miss Kate, at her answers so glib, sir ; 
" That, I think you would not be the worse 
Of a little additional rib, sir." 



The saint, in a rage, seized the lass. 

He gave her one twirl round his head, sir, 
And, before Doctor Arnott's invention. 

Flung Kate on a watery bed, sir. 
Oh ! — cruel St. Kevin ! — for shame ! 

When a lady her heart came to barter, 
You should not have been Knight of the Bath, 

But have bowed to the order of Garter. 



201 SONGS OF THE 



MOTHER, HE'S GOING AWAY, 



Mother. 



Now what are you crying for, Nelly ? 

Don't be blubbering there like a fool ; 
With the weight o' the grief, faith, I tell you 

You'll break down the three-legged stool ; 
I suppose now you're crying for Barney, 

But don't b'lieve a word that he'd say, 
He tells nothing but big lies and blarney. 
Sure you know how he sarved poor Kate Karney. 

Daughter. 

But Mother ? — 

Mother. 

Oh, bother ! 

Daughter. 

Oh, mother, he's going away ! 
And I dreamt th' other night 
Of his ghost — all in white ! 



IRISH EVENINGS. 205 



{Mother. — In an under tone. 
The dirty blackguard !) 
Daughter. 
Oh, mother, he's going away. 

II 

Mother. 

If he's going away all the better, — 

Blessed hour when he's out o' your sight ! 

There's one comfort — you can't get a letter— 
For yiz* neither can read or can write. 

Sure, 'twas only last week you protested, 
Since he coorted fat Jinney McCray, 

That the sight o' the scamp you detested, 

With abuse sure your tongue never rested ! 

Daughter 
But Mother ? — 
Mother. 

Oh bother ! 
Daughter. 
Oh, mother, he's going away ! 
{Mother. 

May he never come back !) 

And I dreamt of his ghost 
Walking round my bed post — 

Oh, mother, he's going away ! 

* Ye. 



206 SONGS OF THE 



TEA-TABLE TACTICS 



They may talk of the ruin 

That Bacchus is brewing, 
But if my advice a young soldier would ask, sir, 

I would say that the hiccups 

Are safer than tea-cups ; 
So beware of the chaynee, and stick to your flask, sir. 

Had I stood to my bowl, 

Like a gay jovial soul, 
By this time I might be a general officer. 

But I dallied with Sally, 

And Betty, and Ally, 
And lost all my time with their lay and their coffee, sir- 

Oh ! tay is a dangerous drink, 
When the lady that makes it's a beauty ; 

With her fingers so nate 

She presents you a plate. 
And to cut bread and butter she puts you on duty ; 



IRISH EVENINGS. 207 



Then she pouts her bright lips, 
While the Congou she sips, 
And her sweet mouth some question demanding, 
Puts your heart beyond all self-commanding ; 
Through the steam of the tea-pot her eyes shine like stars, 
And Venus again makes a conquest of Mars. 



When I entered the army, 

At first it did charm me ; 
Says I, " by St. Patrick, I'll yet live in story : 

When war is announced — " 

But a petticoat flounced. 
With a nate bit o' lace, it ensnared me from glory. 

Had I mounted the breach. 

Glory's lesson to teach, 
I might have escaped, and a pension be paying me ; 

Instead of soft folly 

With Nanny or Molly, 
Which bound me, like Sampson, while Cupid was slaying me. 

Oh ! tay is a dangerous drink, &:c., &c. 



20S SONGS OF THE 



THEY SAY MY SONGS ARE ALL THE SAMfJ 



They say my songs are all the same, 
Because I only sing of thee : 

Then be it so — and let them blame — 
Such thoughts are dearer far to me 

Than all the voice of Fame ! 

Let plaudits ring and fame reply, 
Ah — sweeter far thy gentle sigh ! 
Let critics frown — I laugh the while — 
What critic's frown is worth thy smile ? 
They say, &c., &c. 

Poor critic ! — had'st thou but the chance 
To win my Stella's dazzling glance, 
When votive wreath of song I twine, 
To lay on love's immortal shrine. 
Could'st thou but see the mantling blush 
Rewarding passion's lay. 
Thou would'st not bid me nay — 
Then, loveless critic, hush ! 
They say, &c., &c. 



IRISH EVENINGS. 209 



Go, blame the rose's lovely hue, 
Blame the bright sky for being blue. 
Blame time when made of happiest hours, 
Blame perfume shed from sweetest flow'rs. 
And then blame me for beino- fond 
Of something, all these sweets beyond ! — 
Then be my songs all still the same. 

For I will always sing of thee. 
Thus be it so — and let. them blame — 

Such thoughts are dearer far to me 
Than all the voice of fame ! 



SONGS FROM THE NOVEL OF TREASURE TROVE. 



THE SOLDIER. 



'TwAs a glorious day, worth a warrior's telling, 

Two kings had fought, and the fight was done, 
When 'midst the shout of victory swelling, 

A soldier fell on the field he won. 
He thought of kings and of royal quarrels. 

And thought of glory without a smile ; 
For what had he to do with laurels ? 

He was only one of the rank and file. 
But he pulled out his little cruiskeen,* 
And drank to his pretty colleen,'f 
" Oh darling !" says he, " when I die 

You won't be a widow — for why ? — 
Ah ! you never would have me, vourneen."X 

' A dram-bottle. f Girl. J A term of endearment. 



212 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 



A raven tress from his bosom taking, 

That now was stained with his life stream shed ; 
A fervent prayer o'er that ringlet making, 

He blessings sought on the loved one's head. 
And visions fair of his native mountains 

Arose, enchanting his fading sight ; 
Their emerald valleys and crystal fountains 

Were never shining more green and bright j 
And grasping his little cruiskeen. 
He pledged the dear Island of Green ; — 
" Though far from thy valleys I die, 

Dearest isle, to my heart thou art nigh, 
As though absent I never had been." 



A tear now fell — for as life was sinking, 

The pride that guarded his manly eye 
Was weaker grown, and his last fond thinking 

Brought heaven and home, and his true love, nigh. 
But with the fire of his gallant nation, 

He scorn'd surrender without a blow ! — 
He made with Death capitulation, 

And with warfike honors he still would go ; 
For draining his little cruiskeen, 
He drank to his cruel colleen, 

To the emerald land of his birth — 

And lifeless he sank to the earth. 
Brave a soldier as ever was seen ! 



SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 213 



MARY MA CHREE 



The flower of the valley was Mary ma chree, 
Her smiles all bewitching were lovely to see, 
The bees round her humming, when summer was gone, 
When the roses were fled — might take her lip for one. 
Her laugh it was music — her breath it was balm j 
Her heart, like the lake, was as pure and as calm, 
Till love o'er it came, like a breeze o'er the sea. 
And made the heart heave of sweet Mary ma chree. 

11. 

She loved — and she wept : for was gladness e'er known 
To dwell in the bosom that Love makes his own ? 
His joys are but moments — his griefs are for years, 
He comes all in smiles — but he leaves all in tears. 
Her lover was gone to a far distant land. 
And Mary, in sadness, would pace the lone strand ; 
And tearfully gaze o'er the dark rolling sea. 
That parted her soldier from Mary ma chree. 



214 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 



LOVE AND HOME AND NATIVE LAND. 



When o'er the silent deep we rove, 

More fondly then our thoughts will stray 
To those we leave — to those we love, 

Whose prayers pursue our watery way. 
When in the lonely midnight hour 

The sailor takes his watchful stand, 
His heart then feels the holiest power 

Of love, and home, and native land. 



In vain may tropic climes display 

Their glittering shores — their gorgeous shells ; 
Though bright birds wing their dazzling way, 

And glorious flowers adorn the dells j 
Though nature there prolific, pours 

The treasures of her magic hand, 
The eye — but not the heart, adores : 

The heart still beats for native land. 



SONGS FROM "TREASURE TROVE." 215 



MY NATIVE TOWN, 



We have heard of Charybdis and Scylla of old ; 
Of Maelstrom the modern enough has been told ; 
Of Vesuvius's blazes all travellers bold 

Have established the bright renown : 
But spite of what ancients or moderns have said 
Of whirlpools so deep, or volcanoes so red, 
The place of all others on earth that I dread 

Is my beautiful native town. 



Where they sneer if you're poor, and they snarl if you're rich ; 

They know every cut that you^make in your flitch ; 

If your hose sliould be darn'd, they can tell every stitch ; 

And they know when your wife got a gown. 
The old one, they say, was made new — for the brat ; 
And they're sure you love mice — for you can't keep a cat ; 
In the hot flame of scandal how blazes the fat, 

When it falls in your own native town. 



21G SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 



If a good stream of blood chance to run in your veins, 
They think to remember it not worth the pains, 
For losses of caste are to them all the gains, 

So they treasure each base renown. 
If your mother sold apples — your father his oath, 
And was cropp'd of his ears — yet you'll hear of them both, 
For loathing all low things they never are loath. 

In your virtuous native town. 

IV. 

If the dangerous heights of renown you should try 

And give all the laggards below the go-by, 

For fear you'd be hurt with your climbing so high. 

They're the first to pull you down. 
Should Fame give you wings, and you mount in despite, 
They swear Fame is wrong, and that they're in the right, 
And reckon you there — though you're far out of sight, 

Of the owls of your native town. 



Then give me the world, boys ! that's open ana wiae, 

Where honest in purpose and honest in pride, 

You are taken for just what you're worth when you're tried, 

And have paid your reckoning down. 
Your coin's not mistrusted — the critical scale 
Does not weigh ev'ry piece, like a huxter at sale ; 
The mint-mark is on it — although it might fail 

To pass in your native town. 



SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 217 



OUR OWN WHITE CLIFF, 



The boat that left yon vessel's side, 

Swift as the sea-bird's wing, 
Doth skim across the sparkling tide 

Like an enchanted thing ! 
Enchantment, there, may bear a part, 

Her might is in each oar, 
For love inspires each island heart 

That nears its native shore, 
And as they gaily speed along. 
The breeze before them bears their song : 
" Oh, merrily row, boys — merrily ! 
Bend the oar to the bounding skiff, 
Of every shore 
Wide ocean o'er. 
There's none like our own white cliff!' 

11 



218 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVfi." 



Through sparkling foam they bound — they dart- 

The much-loved shore they nigh — 
With deeper panting beats each heart, 

More brightly beams each eye ! 
As on the crowded strand they seek 

Some well-known form to trace, 
In hopes to meet some blushing cheek, 

Or wife, or child's embrace ; 
The oar the spray now faster flings. 
More gaily yet each seaman sings : 

" Oh, merrily row, boys — merrily ! 
Bend the oar to the bounding skiff. 
Of every shore. 
Wide ocean o'er. 
There's none like our own white cliff!" 



SONGS FROM "TREASURE TROVE." 219 



THE MOUNTAIN DEW, 



By yon mountain tipp'd with cloud, 
By the torrent foaming loud, 
By the dingle where the purple bells of heather grew, 
Where the Alpine flow'rs are hid, 
And where bounds the nimble kid, 
There we've wander'd both together through the mountain dew. 
With what delight in summer's night we trod the twilight gloom ! 
The air so full of fragrance from the flow'rs so full of bloom, 
And our hearts so full of joy — for aught else there was no room. 
As we wander'd both together through the mountain dew. 



Those sparkling gems that rest 
On the mountain's flow'ry breast. 
Are like the joys we number — they are bright and few, 
For a while to earth are given. 
And are called again to heaven. 
When the spirit of the morning steals the mountain dew. 
But memory, angelic, makes a heaven on earth for men, 
Her rosy light recalleth bright the dew-drops back again ; 
The warmth of love exhales them from that well-remembered glen 
Where we wander'd both together through the mountain dew. 



220 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 



THE LADY'S HAND. 



To horse ! to horse ! the trumpet sings, 

'Midst clank of spear and shield ; 
The knight into his saddle springs, 

And rushes to the field ; 
A lady look'd from out her bow'r, 

A stately knight drew near, 
And from her snowy hand she dropt 

Her glove upon his spear ; 
He placed it on his helmet's crest 

And join'd the gallant band ; 
" The lady's glove but now is mine. 

But soon I'll win the hand !" 

Above the plunging tide of fight 

Their plumes now dance like spray ; 
And many a crest of note and might 

Bore proudly through the fray ; 
But still the little glove was seen 

The foremost of the band, 
A.nd deadly blows the fiercest fell 

From that fair lady's hand. 



SONGS FROM «' TREASURE TROVE." 221 



Before him every foeman flies ! 

His onset none can stand ! 
More fatal e'en than lady's eyes 

Was that fair lady's hand. 

And now the trumpet sounds retreat, 

The foeman droops his crest ; 
The fight is past — the sun has set, 

And all have sunk to rest — 
Save one — who spurs his panting steed 

Back from the conquering band, 
And he who won the lady's glove, 

Now claims the lady's hand. 
'Tis won — 'tis won ! — that gallant knight 

Is proudest in the land : — 
Oh ! what can nerve the soldier's arm 

Like hope of lady's hand ! 



222 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 



FAG AN BEALACH.* 



[This song occurs in a scene of political excitement in the story of " Treasure Trove," 
but might equally belong to many other periods of the history of Ireland — a harassed land, 
which has been forced to nurse, in secret, many a deep and dread desire. J 



Fill the cup, my brothers, 

To pledge a toast, 
Which, beyond all others, 

We prize the most : 
As yet 'tis but a notion 

We dare not name : 
But soon o'er land and ocean 

'Twill fly with fame ! 
Then give the game before us 

One view holla, 
Hip! hurra! in chorus. 

Fag an Bealach. 



We our hearts can fling, boys, 

O'er this notion. 
As the sea-bird 's wing, boys, 

Dips the ocean. 

• Pronounced, Faug a Bella, meaning " leave the road," or " clear the 
way." 



SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 223 



'Tis too deep for words, boys, 
The thought we know — 

So, like the ocean-bird, boys. 
We touch and go : 

For dangers deep, surrounding 
Our hopes might swallow ; 

So through the tempest bounding, 
Fag an Bealach. 



This thought with glory rife, boys, 

Did brooding dwell. 
Till time did give it life, boys, 

To break the shell : 
'Tis in our hearts yet lying. 

An unfledged thing; 
But soon, an eaglet flying, 

'Twill take the wing ! 
For 'tis no timeling frail, boys — 

No summer swallow — 
'Twill live through winter's gale, boys, 
Fag an Bealach. 

IV. 

Lawyers may indict us 

By crooked laws. 
Soldiers strive to fright us 

From country's cause ; 
But we will sustain it 

Living — dying — 
Point of law or bay'net 

Still defying ! 



224 SONGS FROM " TREASURE TROVE." 

Let their parchment rattle — 

Drums are hollow : 
So is lawyers' prattle — 

Fag an Bealach. 



Better early graves, boys — 

Dark locks gory, 
Than bow the head as slaves, boys, 

When they're hoary. 
Fight it out we must, boys, 

Hit or miss it- 
Better hite the dust, boys. 

Than to kiss it ! 
For, dust to dust, at last, boys. 

Death will swallow — 
Hark ! — the trumpet's blast, boys, 
Fag an Bealach. 



THE END. 



SO^^GS AID BALLADS, 



SAMUEL LOVER. 



I N C I- U D I N G THOSE SUNG IN HIS 



"IRISH EVENINGS/ 



AND HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED 



T%ird Edition, vnth additiont, corrected by the ^^ulhor. 



NEW Y ORKi 
WILEY & PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY, 



1847. 
Price 00 Cents. 



tm 



NOW READY 
GOETHE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

POETRY AND TRUTH FROM MY LIFE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

BY PARKE GODWIN. 

(Library of Choice Reading LXXV., LXXVI.) 

Opinion of Carltle. — " Few Autobiographies have come in our 
way, where so difficult a matter was so successfully handled ; where 
perfect knowledge could be found united so kindly with perfect toler- 
ance ; and a personal narrative, moving along in soft clearness, showed 
us a man, and the objects that environed him, under an aspect so vcri- 
.similar, yet so lovely, with an air dignified and earnest, yet graceful, 
cheerful, even gay : a story as of a Patriarch to his children ; such in- 
deed, as few men can be called upon to relate, and few, if called upon, 
could relate so well. What would we give for such an Autobiography 
of Shakspeare, of Milton, even of Pope or Swift. 

" How it went with Goethe ; what was the practical basis of want and 
fulfilment, of joy and sorrow, from which his spiritual productions grew 
forth ; the characters of which they must, more or less, legibly read. 
In which sense, those Volumes entitled by him Diclitimg and Warhheit, 
wherein his personal history, what he has thought fit to make known of 
it, stands delineated, will long be valuable. A noble commentary, in- 
structive in many ways, lies opened there, and yearly increasing in 
worth and interest ; which all readers, now when the true quality of it 
is ascertained, will rejoice that circumstances induced and allowed him 
to write : for surely if old Cellini's counsel have any propriety, it is 
doubly proper in this case, the autobiographic practice he recommends 
was never so much in place as here. ' All men, of what rank soever,' 
thus counsels the brave Benvenuto, ' who have accomplished aught vir- 
tuous or virtuous-like, should, provided they be conscious of really good 
purposes, write down their own life ; nevertheless, not put hand to so wor- 
thy an enterprize till after they have reached the age of forty.' All which 
ukase regulations Goethe had abundantly fulfilled — the last as abun- 
dantly as any, for he had now reached the age of sixty-two." 

This is the first translation of Goethe's works into English ; the pro- 
duction in print some few years ago under the title being a miserable 
affair, pronounced by Mrs. Austin "one of the most flagrant specimens 
of literary dishonesty England has produced. It is, I believe, a bad 
translation of a bad French translation." Carlyle says of the pretended 
translator, " his work shows subtractions, and, what is worse, additions, 
but the unhappy Dragoman has already been chastised, perhaps too 
sharply." 

Two tiSore numbers of the library will complete the work — to be 
issued at an early period. 

Dec. 7, 1846. . WILEY & PUTNAM, 161 Broadway. 



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